Foam Mattress Quotes

Lovey-dovey bullshit. Now let me tell you about what happens when you betray everything you hold dear and the bitch doesn’t return the favor. Oh, wait, you know that lesson already. The problem is you take the leap and you don’t know until it’s too late to pull back if you’re going to land on a foam-covered mattress or jagged rocks where you lie impaled, slowly bleeding and wishing you’d just die already. (Jaden)

Maybe hands were like memory foam mattresses, carrying the imprint of people they’ve loved forever.

In some ways it made it easier, focusing solely on the technical problem at hand. She didn’t have to think about the snotty little child empress she was doing it for, or the people starving in the camp outside the blast gate. There are people starving everywhere, she told herself sometimes, when guilt crept close as she lay on her memory-foam mattress, cool filtered air blowing over her, the taste of butter lingering on her tongue.

Here’s an experiment worth conducting. Sneak into the home of a NASA skeptic in the dead of night and remove all technologies from the home and environs that were directly or indirectly influenced by space innovations: microelectronics, GPS, scratch-resistant lenses, cordless power tools, memory-foam mattresses and head cushions, ear thermometers, household water filters, shoe insoles, long-distance telecommunication devices, adjustable smoke detectors, and safety grooving of pavement, to name a few. While you’re at it, make sure to reverse the person’s LASIK surgery. Upon waking, the skeptic embarks on a newly barren existence in a state of untenable technological poverty, with bad eyesight to boot, while getting rained on without an umbrella because of not knowing the satellite-informed weather forecast for that day.

While the water was heating, Sam whipped the sheet off her bed again, but this time it was empty. Gingerly, she checked the mattress for bumps but they had changed it. The foam bounced back under her hand. A new mattress. At least that meant no bedbugs. She didn’t mind reptiles, as she’d already slept with a few, but there was real intent behind her unpleasant visitor. Who was behind it? Someone who didn’t want her on site. It

A chorus of applause erupts inside my chest. I wrack my brain for possible options. “There’s a recliner in the storage room.” Brance grunts. “We’ll need a bed. Where do you live?” I point toward the street. “About ten minutes away.” His grin speaks of secrets between the sheets. “Take me to your house. We’re gonna test your mattress springs.” I wink at him, but say nothing. It’ll be a fun surprise for him to discover the memory foam.

I say, ‘Man, you best behave youself this time, cause we ain’t never getting this mattress out from in here.’ … Berry say, ‘Don’t you worry about that. Cause I’s a married man now, I got to behave. My name done write.’ He say, ‘Why I going in some other bed when I got this big foam bed to lie in?’ I say, ‘It ain’t the bed it’s who does hot the sheets.’ He say, ‘Well best bring them sheets let we hot them up right now.

The two things Mack loves most in life are holding Chase at the close of the day and holding Chase in the first light of dawn. Every day begins and ends on a foam mattress with the man he loves.

We are supposedly living in a golden age of pleasure. So many tantalizing options lie only a click away: gourmet food, memory-foam mattresses, kinky sex, gadgets galore. Pleasure decoys, all of them, Epicurus would say. Like any good decoy, they look real, and so we take aim. If we fail to hit the target, we blame ourselves for poor marksmanship and reload. Stop aiming at decoys, counsels Epicurus. Better yet, stop shooting altogether. “Not what we have but what we enjoy constitutes our abundance,” he says, noting that, with the right mind-set, even a small pot of cheese can convert a simple meal into a lavish feast.