Finished Basement Quotes

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As slaves we were this country’s first windfall, the down payment on its freedom. After the ruin and liberation of the Civil War came Redemption for the unrepentant South and Reunion, and our bodies became this country’s second mortgage. In the New Deal we were their guestroom, their finished basement. And today, with a sprawling prison system, which has turned the warehousing of black bodies into a jobs program for Dreamers and a lucrative investment for Dreamers; today, when 8 percent of the world’s prisoners are black men, our bodies have refinanced the Dream of being white. Black life is cheap, but in America black bodies are a natural resource of incomparable value.
Ta-Nehisi Coates (Between the World and Me)
I loved school. I loved new shoes and lunch boxes and sharp pencils. I would hold dance contests in tiny finished basements with my friends. I roller-skated in my driveway and walked home from the bus stop on my own. We never locked our door. I had a younger brother whom I loved and also liked. I thought my mother was the most beautiful mother in the world and my father was a superhero who would always protect me. I wish this feeling for every child on earth.
Amy Poehler (Yes Please)
Each time a police officer engages us, death, injury, maiming is possible. It is not enough to say that this is true of anyone or more true of criminals. The moment the officers began their pursuit of Prince Jones, his life was in danger. The Dreamers accept this as the cost of doing business, accept our bodies as currency, because it is their tradition. As slaves we were this country’s first windfall, the down payment on its freedom. After the ruin and liberation of the Civil War came Redemption for the unrepentant South and Reunion, and our bodies became this country’s second mortgage. In the New Deal we were their guestroom, their finished basement. And today, with a sprawling prison system, which has turned the warehousing of black bodies into a jobs program for Dreamers and a lucrative investment for Dreamers; today, when 8 percent of the world’s prisoners are black men, our bodies have refinanced the Dream of being white. Black life is cheap, but in America black bodies are a natural resource of incomparable value.
Ta-Nehisi Coates (Between the World and Me)
Her father is fastened to his room, with his records and his drugs and his quiet. She crawls under her covers. It is her fault for triggering one of his spells. Normally she can tightrope through his moods. At least it had been brief. Most girls do not have to deal with a father like hers. They would be afraid of the way she lives, lawless in a roachy apartment. They would be scared of his fits. Madeleine would be scared too, she thinks, falling asleep. If she had only experienced finished basements and dads who acted like dads. But Madeleine loves her father, and how can you be scared of someone you love?
Marie-Helene Bertino (2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas)
Wait,' Momma says. I peek out with one eye, Daddy does too. Momma never, ever interrupts prayer. 'Uh, baby,' says Daddy, 'I was just finishing up.' 'I have something to add. Lord, bless my mom, and thank you that she went into her retirement fund and gave us the money for the down payment. Help us turn the basement into a suite so she can stay here sometimes.' 'No, Lord,' Daddy says. 'Yes, Lord,' says Momma. 'No, Lord.' 'Yes.' 'No, amen!
Angie Thomas (The Hate U Give (The Hate U Give, #1))
When Elisa arrives at McDonald’s, the manager unlocks the door and lets her in. Sometimes the husband-and-wife cleaning crew are just finishing up. More often, it’s just Elisa and the manager in the restaurant, surrounded by an empty parking lot. For the next hour or so, the two of them get everything ready. They turn on the ovens and grills. They go downstairs into the basement and get food and supplies for the morning shift. They get the paper cups, wrappers, cardboard containers, and packets of condiments. They step into the big freezer and get the frozen bacon, the frozen pancakes, and the frozen cinnamon rolls. They get the frozen hash browns, the frozen biscuits, the frozen McMuffins. They get the cartons of scrambled egg mix and orange juice mix. They bring the food upstairs and start preparing it before any customers appear, thawing some things in the microwave and cooking other things on the grill. They put the cooked food in special cabinets to keep it warm.
Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation: The Dark Side of the All-American Meal)
The Dreamers accept this as the cost of doing business, accept our bodies as currency, because it is their tradition. As slaves we were this country’s first windfall, the down payment on its freedom. After the ruin and liberation of the Civil War came Redemption for the unrepentant South and Reunion, and our bodies became this country’s second mortgage. In the New Deal we were their guestroom, their finished basement. And today, with a sprawling prison system, which has turned the warehousing of black bodies into a jobs program for Dreamers and a lucrative investment for Dreamers; today, when 8 percent of the world’s prisoners are black men, our bodies have refinanced the Dream of being white. Black life is cheap, but in America black bodies are a natural resource of incomparable value.
Ta-Nehisi Coates (Between the World and Me)
If the girl’s going to end up with a dude who’s a monster,” Chloe says, “it needs to be—” “Phantom,” Georgia finishes for her as they head outside, because she’s heard it five hundred thousand times. “Monster on the outside, but on the inside, he cares about her career goals!” Chloe says. “Call me old-fashioned, but a man’s place is in the basement, preparing vocal exercises for his more talented wife.
Casey McQuiston (I Kissed Shara Wheeler)
Hunter was hiding in the basement. Well, not really hiding. He was showing Simon how to break some basic holds. But if he was down here, he didn’t have to see Kate, and he didn’t have to listen to Gabriel’s minute-by-minute jabs. Much more of that, and Hunter wouldn’t give a crap about his promise to Michael—he’d finish what they’d started last night. Everyone else was out on the back porch with pizza and soda, a scene straight out of a deodorant commercial or something.
Brigid Kemmerer (Spirit (Elemental, #3))
Brasi left the room. Two of his men assisted the midwife and the baby was born, the mother was exhausted and went into a deep sleep. Brasi was summoned and Filomena, who had wrapped the newborn child in an extra blanket, extended the bundle to him and said, “If you’re the father, take her. My work is finished.” Brasi glared at her, malevolent, insanity stamped on his face. “Yes, I’m the father,” he said. “But I don’t want any of that race to live. Take it down to the basement and throw it into the furnace.
Mario Puzo (The Godfather (The Godfather #1))
Last Saturday he set out to fix a screen upstairs. He went to the basement to get some nails. Downstairs he saw that the workbench was a mess, so he started organizing the workbench. Then he needed some pegboard to hang up the tools, so he jumped into the car and went to buy the pegboard. At the lumber yard he saw a sale on spray paint, so he bought a can to paint the porch railing and came home totally unaware that he hadn't gotten the pegboard, that he had never finished sorting out the work bench, and that he had started out to fix the broken screen, which we really needed fixed.
Thomas E. Brown (Attention Deficit Disorder: The Unfocused Mind in Children and Adults (Yale University Press Health & Wellness))
On May 10th, the temperature and radioactive emissions from inside the reactor started to fall. By the 11th, days after the water finished draining, a team of technicians ventured into the sub-levels of the plant, bored a hole through a wall below the core and poked a radiometer through. It confirmed their worst fears: the molten core had cracked the reactor’s concrete foundations and at least partially poured into the basement. There was now next to nothing stopping it from breaking through the foundations of the building itself and reaching the water table below. A better and more permanent solution than injecting liquid nitrogen from the surface was required.
Andrew Leatherbarrow (Chernobyl 01:23:40: The Incredible True Story of the World's Worst Nuclear Disaster)
Shit, does everyone know about the fire?” He held the phone, tipped the beer up to his lips, and took a swig. Thankfully, he’d finished swallowing before Vinny stopped laughing. “Of course. What are you, nuts? Remember that wedding reception in the church basement? The maid of honor’s dress caught on fire when they served flaming cherries jubilee, and the band started playin’ the “William Tell Overture” while she ran around screaming like a banshee?
Robin Kaye (Breakfast in Bed (Domestic Gods, #3))
Babushka,” Marya said, and she meant it, here, at the end of everything. “I am so tired. I am so finished with it all. How can I live in this? I want to be held by everyone I have loved and told that it is all forgiven, all done, all made well.” “Tscha! Death is not like that. The redistribution of worlds has made everything equal—magic and cantinas and Yelenas and basements and bread and silver, silver light. Equally dead, equally bound. You will live as you live anywhere. With difficulty, and grief. Yes, you are dead. And I and my family and everyone, always, forever. All dead, like stones. But what does it matter? You still have to go to work in the morning. You still have to live.
Catherynne M. Valente (Deathless)
Jake looks at me as if I’ve asked a really stupid question. “Just some more rooms. And the basement is through there.” “Oh, okay,” I say. “It isn’t finished. Just a nasty hole in the ground for the water heater and stuff like that. We don’t use it. It’s a waste of space. There’s nothing down there.” “A hole in the ground?” “Just forget about it. It’s there. It’s not a nice place. That’s all. It’s nothing.
Iain Reid (I'm Thinking of Ending Things)
I compare building a relationship to building a house. While everyone’s all excited to paint and decorate a finished house, no one actually wants to go and build the foundation and the basement. As in building a house, the basement represents the foundation of a relationship, the part that is responsible for holding up that house that we love so much. If the foundation of a home is shoddy, cracked, or not aligned, then the house will fall—and the same is true for any relationship.
Kate Rose (You Only Fall in Love Three Times: The Secret Search for Our Twin Flame)
I loved that feeling of arising when I finished smoking and climbed out of the shed, bushes, basement, or attic, and emerged into a world completely transformed in front of me. There was that unquenchable giggle that would make even a child blush and the stoned musings and ponderings so deep and so reflective that they seemed to hold the answers to all life’s deepest questions.
Michael J. Heil (Pursued: God’s relentless pursuit and a drug addict’s journey to finding purpose)
Romeo keeps talking after Father Travis walks through the door. Keeps on talking to the empty coffeepot and waiting chairs, to the walls, to the sun shafts through basement window, to the food smells, to the hands, the knees, the air. Keeps on talking because once he finishes he does not know what will happen next, what awaits him anywhere in his won life, and because he cannot leave with these embarrassing sheets of snot and tears still running down his face.
Louise Erdrich (LaRose)
I told her about the photograph, the butterfly emblem, and the light in the basement. When I finished, Ema said, “Whoa.” “You say that a lot.” “What?” “ ‘Whoa,’” I said. “Actually, I don’t. But hanging around you, well, it seems awfully apropos.” I
Harlan Coben (Shelter (Micky Bolitar, #1))
Introduction he modern basement
Creative Publishing International (The Complete Guide to Finishing Basements: Step-by-step Projects for Adding Living Space without Adding On)
Jeez, these kids are so date-y. As in the guys wear suits and they go out to dinner. Did sixteen year olds EVER do this? You see this a lot in 80s teen movies too. Maybe I am just jaded, because nowadays sixteen year olds have orgies in their finished basements.
Robin Hardwick (If You Lived Here, You'd Be Perfect By Now: The Unofficial Guide to Sweet Valley High)
It’s not a spiderweb, you old fool, it’s the pull for the light.” She reached around him and tugged on the string. The naked hundred-watt bulb came on with a snap, blinding both of them for a moment. Blinking as her eyes adjusted, Taylor stared down the stairs, the light illuminating only the immediate stairwell. Fitz was grumbling behind her. She un-latched the snap on her holster, slipped her Glock out of the creaking leather. Holding it at her side, she started down. There was a landing, and she stopped, cautious, sticking the gun and her head around the corner at the same time, just in case. She saw nothing to alarm her, and returned the weapon to its holster as she went down the remaining steps. There was a light switch at the base of the stairs. Taylor flipped on the overhead fluorescent. It was a standard basement: cement floor, unfinished walls on three sides, one painted, as if the owners had contemplated finishing the room and wanted to see what it would look like. The barest whiff of stale air indicated a minor mold problem; the floor was cluttered with stacks of cardboard boxes, bicycles, sleds. All the material that wouldn’t fit nicely in the garage was placed haphazardly down here. It was just a storage space, probably only four hundred square feet: twenty feet deep and twenty long. Certainly nothing exciting. She returned the weapon to its holster. They did a pass through, looking behind boxes, but Taylor didn’t see anything out of place.
J.T. Ellison (Judas Kiss (Taylor Jackson #3))
He inhaled sharply. “I’m glad to have you back.” I nodded, swallowing thickly. “I’m glad to be back.” “Hell, we all can agree on that.” Luke picked up a donut. “There’s nothing creepier than having a psychotic Apollyon caged in the basement.” “Ha,” I said. Luke winked and then tossed the donut to me. I caught it. Sugar flew everywhere. “Or waiting for her to break loose and run amuck,” Deacon added as I took a bite. He glanced across the table. “Or waiting for someone, no names mentioned, to not listen to us and go say hi.” Olivia’s cheeks reddened as she stood. She approached slowly, waited for me to finish chewing. I started to apologize. “I’m really sorry—” She socked me in the stomach. Hard. I doubled over, gasping for air. “Gods.
Jennifer L. Armentrout (Apollyon (Covenant, #4))
Traveling with us did have its advantages. Before Barack’s presidency was over, our girls would enjoy a baseball game in Havana, walk along the Great Wall of China, and visit the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio one evening in magical, misty darkness. But it could also be a pain in the neck, especially when we were trying to tend to things unrelated to the presidency. Earlier in Malia’s junior year, the two of us had gone to spend a day visiting colleges in New York City, for instance, setting up tours at New York University and Columbia. It had worked fine for a while. We’d moved through NYU’s campus at a brisk pace, our efficiency aided by the fact that it was still early and many students were not yet up for the day. We’d checked out classrooms, poked our heads into a dorm room, and chatted with a dean before heading uptown to grab an early lunch and move on to the next tour. The problem is that there’s no hiding a First Lady–sized motorcade, especially on the island of Manhattan in the middle of a weekday. By the time we finished eating, about a hundred people had gathered on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, the commotion only breeding more commotion. We stepped out to find dozens of cell phones hoisted in our direction as we were engulfed by a chorus of cheers. It was beneficent, this attention—“Come to Columbia, Malia!” people were shouting—but it was not especially useful for a girl who was trying quietly to imagine her own future. I knew immediately what I needed to do, and that was to bench myself—to let Malia go see the next campus without me, sending Kristin Jones, my personal assistant, as her escort instead. Without me there, Malia’s odds of being recognized went down. She could move faster and with a lot fewer agents. Without me, she could maybe, possibly, look like just another kid walking the quad. I at least owed her a shot at that. Kristin, in her late twenties and a California native, was like a big sister to both my girls anyway. She’d come to my office as a young intern, and along with Kristen Jarvis, who until recently had been my trip director, was instrumental in our family’s life, filling some of these strange gaps caused by the intensity of our schedules and the hindering nature of our fame. “The Kristins,” as we called them, stood in for us often. They served as liaisons between our family and Sidwell, setting up meetings and interacting with teachers, coaches, and other parents when Barack and I weren’t able. With the girls, they were protective, loving, and far hipper than I’d ever be in the eyes of my kids. Malia and Sasha trusted them implicitly, seeking their counsel on everything from wardrobe and social media to the increasing proximity of boys. While Malia toured Columbia that afternoon, I was put into a secure holding area designated by the Secret Service—what turned out to be the basement of an academic building on campus—where I sat alone and unnoticed until it was time to leave, wishing I’d at least brought a book to read.
Michelle Obama (Becoming)
It was in the darkness of this finished basement, left alone for so very long, that Tucker Ashton the killer was born. Unlike his first birth, it would not prove to be a miracle.
Patrick Lacey (Where Stars Won't Shine)