Quotes About Breakfast

I hope you don't mind the intrusion," she said. "I thought we'd air out your chambers while you were downstairs at breakfast." "We?" he repeated ominously, wondering just how many witnesses there were going to be to her murder.

That was his mother. When she wasn't crying over the breakfast cereal, she was laughing about killing herself.

A half-open window. Morning-fresh air carries curious sunlight into a bedroom. Flecks of dust shimmer yellow-gold. Four feet, entwined under white sheets. Joni's Blue, on the player. Delicate curtains slow-dance to Sunday's tune. Laughter. Talk of: what for breakfast? Anything. Anything at all.

When they left behind all houses and the stink of too many people and stopped for an especially lavish breakfast cooked by the side of a noisy stream, each agreed that a city was not the finest place to breathe God's air and enjoy the sun's warmth.

So this is my moment to say what's been in my heart for years: it's time to put a halt to the egg-white omelette.

Now if we're finished jousting over sex- Darling,I haven't even picked up my lance. That's a very weak double entendre. She had him there. It's early.why don't you tell me why i'm having breakfast with you. I was up all night. The comment that occurred to him was not only weak,but crude.He let it pass.

Mac has a sexy breakfast story." "Really?" Eyebrows lifted, Parker set the syrup and butter on the table of the breakfast nook. "Tell all." "It began, and sexy tales often do, when I spilled Diet Coke on my shirt.

Where he listened some more until I'd pretty well run it down. Then he walked me back and—" "You invite him back in and have sex," Emma prompted. "Get your own sexy breakfast story. I felt mildly embarrassed, and really grateful, so I give him a little peck. A 'thanks, pal' kind of peck. The next thing I know I'm in the middle of a brain-frying, blood-pumping, jungle-drum-beating kiss.

nagging had put him off his breakfast, and a man needed a good breakfast when he was going to be working his tail off the rest of the day. And what he had managed to slurp up before Missy nagged away

She should offer to help, she thought. It seemed the right thing to do. But she was so dreadfully tired, and it was so pleasant to just sit in the big kitchen with rain drumming musically on the roof and watch him handle the simple task of making breakfast.

The problem with being talented and gifted is sometimes you get too smart. My uncle Henry says the importance of eating a good breakfast is because your brain is still growing. But nobody talks about how, sometimes, your brain can get just too big.

All this miraculous hatred. Christ, a man can't eat his breakfast for filling his belly full of it.

Let us consider letters—how they come at breakfast, and at night, with their yellow stamps and their green stamps, immortalized by the postmark—for to see one's own envelope on another's table is to realize how soon deeds sever and become alien. Then at last the power of the mind to quit the body is manifest, and perhaps we fear or hate or wish annihilated this phantom of ourselves, lying on the table.

By God, I could make myself bring her that economically halved grapefruit, that sugarless breakfast.

Take me down to the bar! We'll drink breakfast together!

You expect far too much of a first sentence. Think of it as analogous to a good country breakfast: what we want is something simple, but nourishing to the imagination.

You should eat a waffle! You can't be sad if you eat a waffle!

Lydia is dead. But they don't know this yet. 1977, May 3, six thirty in the morning, no one knows anything but this innocuous fact: Lydia is late for breakfast.

For the rest of her life, this would be what Marilyn thought of first when she thought of her mother. Her mother, who had never left her hometown eighty miles from Charlottesville, who always wore gloves outside the house, and who never, in all the years Marilyn could remember, sent her to school without a hot breakfast

Inside the building the Colonel and the battalion staff were eating breakfast. The sight startled me at first and I said a bad word to myself. The pursuit of the war could not wait long enough for the rifle companies to eat, but there was time for battalion headquarters to breakfast in the luxury of a house that the sweat of the rifle companies had taken. I passed it off as another of the injustices

I don't know whether any of you, gentlemen, ever partook of a real substantial hospitable Scotch breakfast, and then went out to a slight lunch of a bushel of oysters, a dozen or so of bottled ale, and a noggin or two of whiskey to close up with. If you ever did, you will agree with me that it requires a pretty strong head to go out to dinner and supper afterwards.

...fry me an optimist for breakfast.

A nonsmoker is forced to find food, but for a smoker breakfast can be a cigarette and a cup of bad coffee.

Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast." Ace Rimmer