bed and breakfast - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Upon the soft blankets we sit, you and I. Yet for all of these furnishings, for all the wonderful aromas of the breakfast and the coffee, it is your eyes I love. I could rest in them forever, hold you forever, kiss you forever. I suppose it is the child in us that wants those things, that strong sense of love that keeps on going. I'm okay with that; I'll own those emotions. This is so special and it ain't the bed, it ain't the breakfast, it's all about the hugs and being close to your heart.
The bed and breakfast made Kitty want to dance on her toes. The room was as perfect as a fine English tea of small cakes. The lace was white, the pink as fresh as a baby's smile and everything with the fragrance of lavender. She felt like a cosseted child just to peer from the mullioned window over the fields. This little room would be home for the next week...
"Cheap bed & breakfast" is all the advert had said above the close typed phone number. Lucy pulled back on Greg's hand, back toward the twilight street. The facade was somewhere between shabby and derelict, the steps covered in unswept leaves that were turning to compost. Greg stopped, pushing her wayward hair behind her left ear and getting close enough to whisper. "Just one night baby, then we'll head out to the rendezvous." Lucy nodded just like she had as a small girl, giving over her better judgement, following despite her reluctance. The door slammed shut behind them, not the dull thud of rotting wood they'd been expecting but a cool metallic click...
Adequate. I think that's the best you could say. Bed? Check. Breakfast? Check. Decorated in grandma beige and flowers? Check. Smells a little of bleach? Check. Formica furniture? Of course. Clean bedding? Probably. I think I'll cover the pillow with a towel just in case. Smiling staff? I think that must be extra. Dodgy stains on carpet? Let's hope that's hot chocolate.
The bed and breakfast advertised as "quaint" and "comfortable." Rocio gingerly placed her travel bag on the worn carpet and rang the bell for service. An old woman came tottering out in her nightgown, and barely taller than the counter she peered at her. Her manner was of one interrupted from a favorite TV show. She was a great deal deafer than she had been just a year previously and she squinted at her new customer, her spectacles had been lost and not replaced. "One night" she said, "thirty five dollars." A wrinkled hand shot over the counter. Rocio took a step backwards. The woman narrowed her eyes. "Twenty dollars!" she said. Rocio turned to leave to find her way barred by a pitt bull. "Fifty dollars!," she crowed as the dog's rumbling growl grew louder.
The room was no bigger than a cupboard. The beige wallpaper was peeling and you could see the damp creeping up the walls. The bed was narrow and no doubt cut smaller to fit in the room. Then the door locked behind her..
Could there be anything finer than bed & breakfast in Provence? Warm croissant, homemade jams and fine coffee... The air smells like every seaside daydream and the pace of life drifts by rather than marches. Every morning the only wake-up call is a chorus of birds that flit between the summer-clad trees outside. Kiplar could never relax in the hotels of the Las Vegas strip or on frenetic city getaways, he soaked in the ambience of Provence like it was the only medication he required.
It was a bed and breakfast that could have doubled as a set in a Kubric movie. The wallpaper had a sepia tint at the peeled edges and the fragrance was mothballs and mildew. The bed had grazed the wall right back to the plaster in long grey scars. To make it even more special the lightbulb was many watts too dim, the yellow light slopping lazily on the scene like a rushed painting.
The man walked into the bed and breakfast like it were his own home, kicking off his shoes messily at the door and smiling widely. Mrs Wilson was never good at hiding surprise and this occasion was no different. Her jaw hung slackly as if her late Grandfather had just offered her a lollipop. The man ran his hands through his hair, quite aware that his attractiveness was enhanced by his more rugged qualities and held out a credit card just the same as a lover offers a single rose. "Your best room, full breakfast, don't hold back on the room service." When he winked the old girl nearly had a stroke, but that's how he noticed Sabine, her snickering coming from the dark alcove where she was dusting the oversized Grecian vase.
Bed & Breakfast in the Napa Valley was a far cry from the seaside establishments of the English coast. They took the notion and made it something more sublime than Carter could ever have imagined. The rooms were every shade of luxury from the four poster beds to the jacuzzi bathrooms. There were open fireplaces with soft leather chairs, fire pits for making s'mores campfire style when the sun set. Days were full of wine tasting in the vineyards and the restaurant was all about fine dining.
Bed and breakfast for Kerry Harris was a park bench and bread from the dumpster behind the supermarket. He snuggled beneath the stars with his old ragged coat for a blanket, tied around twice with foraged rope.
The bed and breakfast had once been the finest residence in the tiny seaside town, a place the mayor and the vicar would swoon to get invitations for morning tea. The architecture was all Georgian, perfectly preserved. The old family that built it fell on hard times a couple of decades ago, gambling they say. There is no finer place to stay in this region, no finer place at all. Just walking in makes one feel like the Earl himself, come home to peace and tranquility.