Quotes About Bread

The need of the immaterial is the most deeply rooted of all needs. One must have bread; but before bread, one must have the ideal.

A soul for a piece of bread. Misery makes the offer; society accepts.

If there is anything more heart-breaking than a body perishing for lack of bread, it is a soul which is dying from hunger for the light.

Man lives by affirmation even more than he does by bread.

If there is anything more poignant than a body agonizing for want of bread, it is a soul dying for hunger of light.

Let us enter equal complaint against stomachs and minds which do not eat. If there is anything more heart-breaking than a body perishing for lack of bread, it is a soul which is dying from hunger for the light.

Man lives by affirmation even more than by bread.

Si je vais à la boulangerie et n'en ressors qu'avec le pain, j'ai loupé la vie.

For, as FitzMary knelt to pray, An angel whispered in his ear 'The Holy Land is far away, Prepare another Manger here. Build you a second House of Bread In this fair city of renown, And God His Son,' the angel said, 'Shall come to dwell in London Town.' So spake the angel, bending low Reddens laudes Domino.

And in her long nights, in her long house of smoke and miller's stones, she baked the bread we eat in dreams, strangest loaves, her pies full of anguish and days long dead, her fairy-haunted gingerbread, her cakes wet with tears.

Thou mastering me God! giver of breath and bread; World's strand, sway of the sea; Lord of living and dead; Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh, And after it almost unmade, what with dread, Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh? Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.

In blissful oblivion the soldier lay dreaming Of cookies and doughnuts and mother-made bread.

The destruction of ideals, whether those ideals were right or wrong, must also have been a shock to the mind and the heart. Life without idealism is empty indeed. We must have hope as we must have bread; to eat bread without hope is still slowly to starve to death.

But the man dreaming greatly and pressed by sordid necessity, he is the man who must confront the absolute contradiction. He is the man who cannot pour his artist-soul into his work and exchange that work for bread and meat. The world is strangely and coldly averse to his exchanging the joy of his heart for the solace of his stomach. And to him is it given to discover that what the world prizes most it demands least, and that what it clamors the loudest after it does not prize at all.

Thank you." She began to butter the bread, placed a sliver of cheese on top, and continued. "Apparently he referred to himself as a 'foundling.' The term is a bit old-fashioned, and was enough to pique my interest. I remembered the Foundling Hospital, the one built by Thomas Coram in the 1700s. It only moved out of London about four or five years ago, and now it's in Redhill.

To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread.

It will be a great day for America, incidentally, when we begin to eat bread again, instead of the blasphemous and tasteless foam rubber that we have substituted for it.

To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread. It

Unemployment is a great tragedy. The man who goes about hopelessly seeking work in order to earn bread for his children is a living reproach to civilization.

It's their failure, my little Anna, not yours. Men who try to understand the world without the help of children are like men who try to bake bread without the help of yeast.

When a shooting takes place, it is not just us, it is an opportunity for many bread earners - the light man, the boom man, the sound staff, the people who work to erect the sets, the camera team.

Politics in America is like stale bread. It's so yada yada that the best among us can hardly stand it.

There's a certain kind of dark-crusted sourdough bread I'm incapable of resisting. A sixth sense alerts me anytime I veer within a three-block radius of a bakery offering tangy country loaves with mahogany crusts. Without fail, I'll make my way inside and buy one, even if there's already half a loaf growing stale on my countertop.

In a Cafe" I watched a man in a cafe fold a slice of bread as if he were folding a birth certificate or looking at the photograph of a dead lover.