bed and breakfast - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
A cosy bed, a solid breakfast and the day stretching ahead with possibilities.
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...
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.
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.