A Quote by Elizabeth Berg

I just cannot stand an unmade bed. — © Elizabeth Berg
I just cannot stand an unmade bed.
My secret is I cannot go to bed, I cannot sleep, if my bed is not made before I go to bed. I can leave it unmade in the morning, but I have to remake it before I get into it to sleep.
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there is wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.
I try to make my bed every day for mental health. Coming home to an unmade bed or a room with clothes all over will depress me.
A man would prefer to come home to an unmade bed and a happy woman than to a neatly made bed and an angry woman.
This man dresses like an unmade bed.
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed.
I realize that in a happy life, making your bed should play a very small part, I don't know why this is so helpful to people getting started on a happiness project, but for some reason, making your bed - it's concrete, it's manageable. There's a big difference between having a bed that's unmade and a bed that's made. That little bit of outer order in people's lives seem to help them get started. So, that's a very small thing that you can do.
We cannot stand alone. With 80 million people in this world of today, you cannot, when you just stand on your own, achieve much even though you may be economically strong.
Few people realize what a handicap it is to be what people call a beautiful woman. I'm glad, of course, that I don't look like an unmade bed, but too often, I'm just taken at face value. And there aren't many men who believe a beautiful woman can have any brains.
What kills love? Only this: Neglect. Not to see you when you stand before me. Not to think of you in the little things. Not to make the road wide for you, the table spread for you. To choose you out of habit not desire, to pass the flower seller without a thought. To leave the dishes unwashed, the bed unmade, to ignore you in the mornings, make use of you at night. To crave another while pecking your cheek. To say your name without hearing it, to assume it is mine to call.
I seem to have no dress sense at all. I'm always being listed in New York among one of the ten worst dressed men of the year. Someone once described me as "looking like an unmade bed." He was right!
And having once chosen, never to seek to return to the crossroads of that decision-for even if one chooses wrongly, the choice cannot be unmade.
What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.
The walls between old allies on either side of the Atlantic cannot stand. The walls between the countries with the most and those with the least cannot stand. The walls between races and tribes; natives and immigrants; Christian and Muslim and Jew cannot stand. These now are the walls we must tear down. We know they have fallen before.
But what struck me was the book-madness of the place--books lay scattered across the unmade bed and the top of a battered-looking desk, books stood in knee-high piles on the floor, books were crammed sideways and right side up in a narrow bookcase that rose higher than my head and leaned dangerously from the wall, books sat in stacks on top of a dingy dresser. The closet door was propped open by a pile of books, and from beneath the bed a book stuck out beside the toe of a maroon slipper.
Fear cannot touch me… It can only taunt me, It cannot take me, Just tell me where to go… I can either follow, Or stay in my bed… I can hold on To the things that I know… The dead stay dead, They cannot walk. The shadows are darkness. And darkness cannot talk
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!