Nora Roberts Quotes

A glimpse at my night stand gives the mostly true impression that I am a book hoarder.

The rest, with very little exaggeration, was books. Meant-to-be-picked-up books. Permanently-left-behind books. Uncertain-what-to-do-with books. But books, books. Tall cases lined three walls of the room, filled to and beyond capacity. The overflow had been piled in stacks on the floor. There was little space left for walking, and none whatever for pacing.

I like messy. What fun is tidy?

My house is very clean apart from a very small part of it that looks as if we've been burgled, which is my office.

You can literally walk into my apartment and sit on a hat; you can step on a hat; you can probably open up the refrigerator and find a hat tucked under some rotten food. I have a lot of hats.

If you have debt I'm willing to bet that general clutter is a problem for you too.

My closet is like Bart Simpson's.

My worst habit is my untidiness. It bewilders my family, the degree to which I can create absolute chaos around me.

But what struck me was the book-madness of the place--books lay scattered across the unmade bed and the top of a battered-looking desk, books stood in knee-high piles on the floor, books were crammed sideways and right side up in a narrow bookcase that rose higher than my head and leaned dangerously from the wall, books sat in stacks on top of a dingy dresser. The closet door was propped open by a pile of books, and from beneath the bed a book stuck out beside the toe of a maroon slipper.

Richard's bookshelves weren't alphabetized. He never had time to alphabetize them. He was always too busy- looking for books he couldn't find.

I have this feeling that if I could sort out what's on my dining room table, everything would fall into place.

Clutter is my natural habitat.

Her library filled her bookshelves and then overflowed into waist-high stacks of books everywhere, piled haphazardly against the walls. If just one of them moved... the domino effect could engulf the three of us in an asphyxiating mass of literature.

Books everywhere. On the shelves and on the small space above the rows of books and all along the floor and under chairs, books that I have read, books that I have not read.

There weren't any curtains in the windows, and the books that didn't fit into the bookshelf lay piled on the floor like a bunch of intellectual refugees.

I am a terrible mixture of being organized, controlling, but chaotic. My desk is monstrous.

I don't really have a domestic inclination. Even my apartment has a semblance of a storage facility. It's just stacks, there are no bookshelves, just books and piles of stamp collections and weird little sewing and knitting projects.

You look in my room and it looks neat enough, but if you dared to look under my bed or in my closet, oh what a mess!

I'm the biggest slob in the world. My apartment is a mess.

I'm a disorganized mess. My purse is gross: I once found a shoulder pad, string cheese, and a Christmas ornament in it!

The trouble with having a place for everything is how often it gets filled up with everything else.

My worst habit is probably that I'm extremely messy. I'm a big scatter-brain - I'm always losing my car keys, or worse, forgetting where I parked my car in the car park.

Because of the accumulation of objects, things are never quite the way I want them to be. There has always been a lack of, well, clarity.

My life at the moment is a bit like my wardrobe. Organized chaos.

The thing about reading is that if you are hooked, you're not going to stop just because one series is over; you're going to go and find something else.