School Bunk Quotes

Sometimes, it's better to bunk a class and enjoy with friends, because now, when I look back, marks never make me laugh, but memories do.

People are complicated. There is so much more to everybody than you realize. You see someone in school everyday, or at work, in the canteen, and you share a cigarette of a coffee with them, and you talk about the weather or last night's air raid. But you don't talk so much about what was the nastiest thing you ever said to your mother, or how you pretended to be David Balfour, the hero of Kidnapped, for the whole of the year when you were 13, or what you imagine yourself doing with the pilot who looks like Leslie Howard if you were alone in his bunk after a dance.

Exactly one month after he was convicted, when the lights were dimmed and the detention officers made a final sweep of the catwalk, Peter reached down and tugged off his right sock. He turned on his side in the lower bunk, so that he was facing the wall. He fed the sock into his mouth, stuffing it as far back as it would go. When it got hard to breathe, he fell into a dream. He was still eighteen, but it was the first day of kindergarten. He was carrying his backpack and his Superman lunch box. The orange school bus pulled up and, with a sigh, split open its gaping jaws. Peter climbed the steps and faced the back of the bus, but this time, he was the only student on it. He walked down the aisle to the very end, near the emergency exit. He put his lunch box down beside him and glanced out the rear window. It was so bright he thought the sun itself must be chasing them down the highway. 'Almost there,' a voice said, and Peter turned around to look at the driver. But just as there had been no passengers, there was no one at the wheel. Here was the amazing thing: in his dream, Peter wasn't scared. He knew, somehow, that he was headed exactly where he'd wanted to go.

Louis hates everybody. So he texts Niall. ‘I hate this school and everybody in it. Death to rich people.’ A second later, his screen lights up. ‘Can’t die. Am immortal. Want to bunk off and get high under a tree?’ And Louis really wants to say no. 'Which tree?' But he says that instead.

She'd never in her whole life bunked school, smoked dope, or kissed a boy whose name she didn't know, and yet in the last few days, she'd done all these things.

You were in business making meth? Do you have any idea what that drug does to people?" We weren't givin' it away," Concise snaps. "If someone was fool enough to mess himself up, that was his problem." I shake my head, disgusted. "If you build it, they will come." If you build it," Concise says, "you cover your rent. If you build it, you pay off the loan sharks. If you build it, you put shoes on your kid's feet and food in his belly and maybe even show up every now and then with a toy that every other goddamn kid in the school already has." He looks up at me. "If you build it, maybe your son don't have to, when he grow up." It is amazing -- the secrets you can keep, even when you are living in close quarters. "You didn't tell me." Concise gets up and braces his hands against the upper bunk. "His mama OD'd. He lives with her sister, who can't always be bothered to take care of him. I try to send money so that I know he's eatin' breakfast and gettin' school lunch tickets. I got a little bank account for him, too. Jus' in case he don't want to be part of a street gang, you know? Jus' in case he want to be an astronaut or a football player or somethin'." He digs out a small notebook from his bunk. "I'm writin' him. A diary, like. So he know who his daddy is, by the time he learn to read." It is always easier to judge someone than to figure out what might have pushed him to the point where he might do something illegal or morally reprehensible, because he honestly believes he'll be better off. The police will dismiss Wilton Reynolds as a drug dealer and celebrate one more criminal permanently removed from society. A middle-class father who meets Concise on the street, with his tough talk and his shaved head, will steer clear of him, never guessing that he, to, has a little boy waiting for him at home. The people who read about me in the paper, stealing my daughter during a custody visit, will assume I am the worst sort of nightmare.

Evil Hall had been transformed into a magnificent ballroom, glittering with green tinsel, black balloons, thousands of green-flamed candles, and a spinning chandelier streaking wall murals with emerald bursts of light. Around a towering ice sculpture of two entwined snakes, Hort and Dot stumbled through a waltz, Anadil wrapped her arms around Vex, Brone tried not to step on Mona's green feet, and Hester and Ravan swayed and whispered as more villainous couples waltzed around them. Ravan's bunk mates picked up the music on reed violins as more pairs flooded onto the floor, clumsy, bashful, but aglow with happiness, dancing beneath a spangled banner: THE 1ST ANNUAL VILLAINS "NO BALL

I tried to bunked classes, I skipped lectures, I cheated in exams, I lied to my teachers and some stuff were taken for granted when I was a student before. I am not proud about it. Of course, I learned from that experience. I learned that everyone has a chance to change. It doesn't mean that if I am dumbass before and you call me the same thing now. Because now, I work hard, play the game well and strive for excellence. This is me now, a guy with a strong grit in my heart.

They have me in a bunk next to this guy, Bilal. He’s just a year older than me. He—this is nuts—he studied plant biology in Helsinki. He worked in a bar to pay for school. There’s nothing special about him. Not his DNA. He’s not even Muslim. He’s a Hindu, but he was born in Pakistan, so…It’s pathetic. These people can’t even do racist right.

I asked her to tell me what the best moment of her life had been Did she? Yes, she told me about a trip the two of you had taken to Europe together right after you graduated from high school. Pascal in Paris, it had been a dream of hers to visit Pascal’s grave. On that trip she finally did. I’d never seen her so excited. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t? No, it was in a hostel in Venice. The two of you had been travelling for a couple of weeks and all of your clothes were filthy. You didn’t mind the dirty clothes very much. Lila said you were able to roll with the punches and for you, everything about the trip, even the dirty laundry, was a great adventure. But Lila liked things a certain way, and she hated being dirty. That day she had gone off in search of a laundry mat but hadn’t been able to find one. You were sleeping in a room with a dozen bunks, women and men together. In the middle of the night Lila woke up and realized you weren’t in your bed. She thought you must have gone to the bathroom, but after a couple minutes when you hadn’t returned she became worried. She climbed down from her bunk and went to the bathroom to find you, you weren’t there. She wondered up and down the hallway softly calling your name. A few of the rooms were private and had the doors closed. As she became increasingly worried she began putting her ear to those doors listening for you. Then she heard banging down below. Alarmed she went down the dark stairwell to the basement. She saw you before you saw her. You were working in the dim light of a single blub standing over an old hand operated washing machine. She asked what you were doing, what does it look like you said smiling. What Lila remembered from that night was that you actually looked happy to be standing there in the cold basement in the middle of the night washing clothes by hand. And she knew you wouldn’t have minded wearing dirty clothes for another week or two, you were doing it for her. She said that. Yes when I asked her what the best moment of her life had been she had told me that story. But it was nothing. To her it was.

be apart. Despite getting rejected by my top-choice school, I was starting to really believe in myself again based on all the positive feedback we continued to get on our videos. And besides, I knew I could always reapply to Emerson the following year and transfer. • • • College started out great, with the best part being my newly found freedom. I was finally on my own and able to make my own schedule. And not only was Amanda with me, I’d already made a new friend before the first day of classes from a Facebook page that was set up for incoming freshmen. I started chatting with a pretty girl named Chloe who mentioned that she was also going to do the film and video concentration. Fitchburg isn’t located in the greatest neighborhood, but the campus has lots of green lawns and old brick buildings that look like mansions. My dorm room was a forced triple—basically a double that the school added bunk beds to in order to squeeze one extra person in. I arrived first and got to call dibs on the bunk bed that had an empty space beneath it. I moved my desk under it and created a little home office for myself. I plastered the walls with Futurama posters and made up the bed with a new bright green comforter and matching pillows. My roommates were classic male college stereotypes—the football player and the stoner. Their idea of decorating was slapping a Bob Marley poster and a giant ad for Jack Daniels on the wall.

What’s the matter, Rea?” he said, still sounding half asleep. “What makes you think . . .?” “You wouldn’t have called this late unless you need to talk. Give me a minute to pull my jeans on and I’ll go out in the hallway so I won’t wake the other guys.” Reagen heard several men moan or swear in the background. When times were good, Noah had a room to himself, but when times were bad in the road game he’d sometimes bunk on the floor in someone else’s room. “I’m listening,” he said after a minute. She wanted to hear his voice more than talk, but that would sound strange, so she told him about her dream and how frightened she’d been. “I wish I were there to hug you, Rea. We could cuddle up. You could tell me everything while I slept.” “I wish you were too.” Neither one said anything for a few breaths, and then she whispered, “I miss you so much sometimes. They’d probably never be as close as they’d been in high school. He was a different man and she’d changed as well, but she still missed the Noah who was half kid, half man. “What are you wearing?” he whispered, and for a moment she swore she could hear him smiling. “Shut up.” He laughed. “Just asking. Who knows, one night I might get lucky and you’d be just out of th shower.” “You never give up trying to make me blush.” Her bad mood had vanished. “Come on, Rea, give me a break. I’ve been wondering what you like naked for years. If I ever get too old to wonder, I hope you just shoot me.” “Go to bed, Noah.” “Good night, Rea. Maybe when you go back to dreaming, you’ll dream of me.” “Not likely.” She closed the phone, thinking how he always had enough magic in his pocket to change her mood even if he didn’t have enough to change his dreams.

Korie: I met Willie for the first time when we were in the third grade at Camp Ch-Yo-Ca, the camp I grew up at. Willie and Jase went to my session of the camp, and Alan came for high school week. Kay was cooking in the kitchen that summer, so her boys could attend the camp for free. I remember thinking Willie was the cutest thing I had ever seen and was so funny. We called him by his middle name, Jess, at the time. He had these big dimples and the cutest sideways smile. I had a diary that I never really wrote in, but that summer, I wrote: “I met a boy at summer camp and he was so cute. He asked me on the moonlight hike and I said ‘yes’!” I even wrote “Korie Loves Jess” on the bunk of the cabin I was staying in that summer. Yes, Willie asked me to go on the moonlight hike with him. It was always a big deal every summer figuring out which boy was going to ask you to accompany him on the moonlight hike, and I was thrilled when he asked me! Willie was definitely my first crush.

Knowing I may never see the room again makes me look at it with fresh eyes. A fire glows in the hearth nestled into the back wall. A square, worn brown rug sits in the middle of the room. Two sets of bunk beds are arranged on either side of the rug. Only mine, the bottom bed closest to the fireplace, has the sheets tucked in and the quilt smoothed. As soon as the boys graduated from school, Mom declared them old enough to tidy up their own beds. And they decided they were old enough not to care whether they slept in tightly tucked sheets. We each have a wooden chest for our everyday clothes and shoes. The special clothes are hung in the large wooden armoire in the corner. Mother always talks about first impressions. I gnaw on my bottom lip and weigh the merits of all my clothes. Feeling confident is always easier when dressed in something special, but I hear my father’s voice replay in my head. I imagine the abandoned city street he walked in his dream. The two dresses I own won’t help me there. And even if the dreams aren’t real, I know in my heart pretty clothes won’t help once The Testing begins.

Once we were inside, I went straight for Doolin’s bunk. I pulled open his sleeping bag, stuck my hand in that jar of peanut butter, and started spreading it around like I was making the world’s biggest sandwich. Norman was right behind with the honey. “Rafe, this isn’t right,” he said. “Sure it is,” I said. “The peanut butter always goes first.

as many more people are now asserting—balance is bunk. It’s a misguided metaphor because it assumes we must always make trade-offs among the four main aspects of our lives: work or school, home or family (however you define that), community (friends, neighbors, religious or social groups), and self (mind, body, spirit). A more realistic and more gratifying goal is better integration between work and the rest of life through the pursuit of four-way wins, which improve performance in all four dimensions.

Many Conservative politicians are little more than a collection of personality defects developed in an attempt to lure their father out from behind the Daily Telegraph during the six days a year they weren’t using the top bunk at school as the forced sodomy equivalent of a life raft during a shark attack

the data used in targeting ads are garbage. The algorithms being used to deliver advertising are garbage. Nico concludes that old-school mass marketing, without targeting and audience data, will “create better ROIs in many situations.”4 The whole edifice of online advertising is, in short, bunk.

In the autumn after his graduation, Dahmer enrolled at Ohio State University but spent most of his time drinking and drunk. He rarely went to class and never completed assignments. He was kicked out of school after the first term. His father and he began to argue about his drinking and his father threatened to throw him out of the house. During one of their discussions, his father mentioned that the military might provide some direction to his life, thinking it would make a man out of him. Dahmer never wanted to become a soldier, but he loved his dad and wanted to please him; besides, he thought it would be an opportunity to see the world and maybe forget about the dismembered body in the woods. Jeff signed up for four years and received training as an army medic. Boot camp was difficult, but it challenged him mentally and physically. He began to feel good about himself and was too busy to think about his secret. He deployed to Germany and bunked with several other soldiers. After his shift, he had a lot of free time and began to frequent the beer gardens. His drinking soon accelerated and eventually got him into trouble.

I had graduated from high school the week before and was now a crewmember on a Dutch ship. This was my first job aboard ship and now I found myself heading down the Hudson River, past the Statue of Liberty. There wasn’t much time for sightseeing since the dinner chimes had been rung and the few passengers we had, were coming into the dining room. No one had explained my duties but I watched the other stewards and followed suit. I must have been a fast learner since amazingly enough all went well, and before I knew it the dining room was empty and it was cleanup time. I’m certain that having worked in my uncle’s restaurants helped but I’m glad I survived without any mishaps. I knew that tomorrow would go even smoother now that I understood the routine. When I told my parents that I was going to sea, they didn’t ask any questions and seemed to take it all for granted. Everything happened extremely fast. On the very same day that I was hired, I was on this foreign flagship bound for Le Havre and Rotterdam, without having as much as a passport. Most of the crewmembers that went on strike were left behind for U.S. Immigration to sort out, provided that they could even be rounded up. For me, it was my first seagoing adventure! Being the youngest and newest crewmember on the ship earned me a bunk four tiers up and against the bulkhead, next to the chain locker. You couldn’t get any farther forward, which made me feel that I would be the first to get to where the ship was going. I didn’t take into account that it would also be the first part of the ship that would slam into the sea or anything else that got in the way, but such was the life of a seaman.

Now that we have someone who can fly the helicopter, this might just work,” I said. “Then let’s get moving!” Mike declared. Alexander raced to the bunk where Catherine was lying and hoisted her onto his shoulder. “Whee!” she yelled. “Piggyback rides for everyone!” Mike helped me lift Erica to her feet. She hooked an arm over each of our shoulders and let us drag her to the door. Zoe and Svetlana joined us as we all hustled out of the bunkhouse and onto the tarmac. Two soldiers were sprawled unconscious by the front door. There was also an unconscious goose nearby.

Lani grew up in New Hampshire, studied at the University of Connecticut, and had planned to attend medical school after graduation. But during her stint with Mercy Ships, she discovered that she enjoyed haggling with businessmen over the price of mud bricks and bunk beds as she worked to improve the orphanage. She felt drawn to humanitarian aid work, and her interest in practicing medicine soon faded.

My fourth-grade teacher, Kathy, is my best friend at school. She’s a plump, pretty woman with hair like yellow pipe cleaners. Her clothes resemble the sheets at my grandma’s house, threadbare florals with mismatched buttons. She says I can ask her as many questions as I want: about tidal waves, about my sinuses, about nuclear war. She offers vague, reassuring answers. In hindsight they were tinged with religion, implied a faith in a distinctly Christian God. She can tell when I’m getting squirrelly, and she shoots me a look across the room that says, It’s okay, Lena, just give it a second. When I’m not with Kathy I’m with Terri Mangiano, our school nurse, who has a buzz cut and a penchant for wearing holiday sweaters all year round. She has a no-nonsense approach to health that comforts me. She presents me with statistics (only 2 percent of children develop Reye’s syndrome in response to aspirin) and tells me that polio has been eradicated. She takes me seriously when I explain that I’ve been exposed to scarlet fever by a kid on the subway with a red face. Sometimes she lets me lie on the top bunk in the back room, dark and cool. I rest my cheek against the plastic mattress cover and listen to her administer pills and pregnancy tests to high school girls. If I’m lucky, she doesn’t send me back to class.

But for every student who fought back there were several more who lived in loneliness or fear. Said one student from the era, “I can remember my first day at RVA, scared, intimidated…being put into the ‘hatchery’ with twenty-four other girls in bunk beds, never accepted but trying to get attention. It was all a bad scene and never got better. No one tried to help me”. Yet it was not the emotional stress or lack of sufficient adult mentors that inspired the greatest vitriol from parents. What triggered the most urgent letters was the appearance of worldy rebellion…ven in the darkest hour, when perhaps one-fourth of the senior class was experimenting with drugs, the vast majority of the school’s students were not using drugs or having sex, let alone dancing or indulging in any of the cosmetic misdemeanors that were so offensive to some within the missionary community. p159

Nate Mackey forgot he was in the top bunk, groggily rolled out of bed, and began his day by belly flopping six feet onto the floor.

Richard Dawkins lamented,9 we think that our kids need to have "fun, fun, fun" rather than, say, experience wonder or interest (they are not the same thing) when going to school or a museum.

When I told my parents that I was going to sea, they didn’t ask any questions and seemed to take it all for granted. It was hard for me to believe that I had graduated from High School the week before and was now a crewmember on a Dutch ship. Everything had happened extremely fast. On the very same day that I was hired, without even having a passport, I was on this foreign flagship bound for Le Havre and Rotterdam. This was my first job aboard ship and now I found myself heading down the Hudson River, past the Statue of Liberty. There wasn’t much time for sightseeing since the dinner chimes had been rung and the few passengers we had were coming into the dining room. No one had explained my duties but I watched the other stewards and followed suit. I must have been a fast learner since amazingly enough all went well, and before I knew it the dining room was empty and it was cleanup time. I’m certain that having worked in my uncle’s restaurants helped but I’m glad I survived without any major mishaps. I knew that tomorrow would go even smoother, now that I understood the routine. For me, it was my first seagoing adventure! Being the youngest and newest crewmember on the ship earned me a bunk four tiers up against the bulkhead, next to the chain locker. You couldn’t get any farther forward, which made me feel that I would be the first to get to where the ship was going. I didn’t take into account that it would also be the first part of the ship that would slam into the sea or anything else that got in the way, but such was the life of a novice seaman.

A capital ship for an ocean trip Was the Walloping Window Blind—No gale that blew dismayed her crew Or troubled the captain’s mind. The man at the wheel was taught to feel Contempt for the wildest blow. And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared, That he’d been in his bunk below. —Charles Edward Carryl, Davy and the Goblin: A Nautical Ballad

I knew a boy in school who rolled out of his bunk in his sleep, struck his head, and never woke up again. I console myself with this terrible memory whenever I look down at the chasm that follows me like a shadow. We are, all of us, living at a deadly height.

It was hard for me to believe that I had graduated from High School the week before and was now a crewmember on a Dutch ship. This was my first job aboard ship and now I found myself heading down the Hudson River, past the Statue of Liberty. There wasn’t much time for sightseeing since the dinner chimes had been rung and the few passengers we had, were coming into the dining room. No one had explained my duties but I watched the other stewards and followed suit. I must have been a fast learner since amazingly enough all went well, and before I knew it the dining room was empty and it was cleanup time. I’m certain that having worked in my uncle’s restaurants helped but I’m glad I survived without any mishaps. I knew that tomorrow would go even smoother now that I understood the routine. I really don’t know if getting a job aboard a foreign ship was easier in the “50’s” or was it that the ship needed another steward and I was willing to be a strike breaker? No one on the ship mentioned the strike and everyone treated me as just another member of the crew. Mostly everyone aboard spoke Dutch and amazingly enough I understood them. Dutch being a Germanic language was very similar to the German spoken in the lowlands, which included Hamburg. It didn’t take long before I was answering and then conversing with the crew…. Although I was on the bottom rung of the ladder I felt right at home. My bunk was at the top of a three bunk stack in the crew’s quarters, high up against the chain locker. The bathroom, called the “head” in English, didn’t have toilets or urinals. Instead I had to perfect my aim as I balanced myself over a hole in the deck. Fortunately there were places for my feet and handholds to help me stabilize myself in this balancing act. With no partitions for modesty I soon lost my inhibitions and became deft at this. At least they furnished the paper and considering it all, life was good!