Quotes About Coffee

Not the smoking. The ritual. Tapping down the pack, my silver lighter, a smoke in the morning, in the car, with a cup of coffee. There was something so soothing about it. Knowing you could count on it. It was always there." She ground out the cigarette

Australians are coffee snobs. An influx of Italian immigrants after World War II ensured that - we probably had the word 'cappuccino' about 20 years before America. Cafe culture is really big for Aussies. We like to work hard, but we take our leisure time seriously.

Vancouver is a coffee-lover's paradise, capable of impressing even the most hyper-caffeinated and jaded New Yorkers, such as myself. The coffee is fantastic, whether I happened to be craving a world-class espresso served with monastic intensity or a single-origin pour-over at a vibrant all-day cafe.

I am a total coffee snob and bore. If anyone makes the mistake of offering me 'a coffee' they tend to regret it - I'm worse than Mariah Carey, and the hot milk rider is completely non-negotiable.

It's got to be speciality coffee or nothing. I love posh coffee but I have lattes with sugar, so I'm not a purist at all, but it has to be specific or it's just not worth it to me.

I like to have straight-up black coffee, but when you get it, sometimes you'll burn your tongue, or it spills on your hands, and you get third degree burns. I happen to be the kind of human being who doesn't want to sue coffee companies for money, so I just say, 'Hey, can you give me some coffee, but can you also give me like, eight ice cubes.'

I don't have the biggest sweet tooth, but I do have one in the morning.

I have a sweet tooth and I gorge into lots of chocolates. I just love them. I have a liking for coffee too.

I've found that I snack less and concentrate better when I chew on a plastic stirrer - the kind that you get to stir your to-go coffee. I picked up this habit from my husband, who loves to chew on things. His favorite chew-toy is a plastic pen top, and gnawed pen tops and little bits of plastic litter our apartment.

I pretty much drink a cup of coffee, write in my journal for a while, and then sit at a computer in my office and torture the keys. My one saving grace as a writer is that, if I'm having trouble with the novel I'm writing, I write something else, a poem or a short story. I try to avoid writer's block by always writing something.

I went to the Heidelburg Castle, a 1200-year-old castle, looked around. It was pretty awesome, but you know, they've got a coffee shop in there, and they have some sections closed off. I wanted to see the part where they tortured people, but it was cool, though.

Love without philosophizing is like having a quick coffee.

Drink your coffee, it clears out the brain in the morning

She set the coffee down beside him with a thud that made the liquid slosh over the rim and sat down a couple of stairs behind him. He reached for the cup and took a swallow without acknowledging her. She waited. Nothing. "You're, uh, welcome," she prompted. He didn't speak. He didn't nod. Wow. Breathtaking. It took balls to be that rude.

No one can understand the truth until he drinks of coffee's frothy goodness.

Coffee is the common man's gold, and like gold, it brings to every person the feeling of luxury and nobility.

I definitely need coffee all the time. I drink probably four or five cups a day.

Going home, spending time with the family, I feel they're my friends as well, all of them. I look forward to meeting any one of them for a coffee, and when we all get together, I just love it.

Halloween isn't the only time for ghosts and ghost stories. In Victorian Britain, spooky winter's tales were part of the Christmas season, often told after dinner, over port or coffee.

We're growing up and I don't like it, said Tacy, as they say at Heinz's later, drinking coffee.

In Vermont, there is maple syrup in it—it doesn't matter what it is. Cake. Ice cream. Coffee. Soup. Mustard. Concrete.

Almost every day, my students would recount such stories. We laughed over them, and later felt angry and sad, although we repeated them endlessly at parties and over cups of coffee, in breadlines, in taxis. It was as if the sheer act of recounting these stories gave us some control over them; the deprecating tone we used, our gestures, even our hysterical laughter seemed to reduce their hold over our lives.

When the girls left that afternoon, they left behind the aura of their unsolved problems and dilemmas. I felt exhausted, I chose the only way I knew to cope with problems. I went to the refrigerator, scooped up the coffee ice cream. Poured some cold coffee over it, looked for walnuts, discovered we had none left, went after almonds, crushed them with my teeth and sprinkled them over my concoction.

Shoes, then, sliding me across the floor to greet the day. Dreaming of coffee. I'm afraid I didn't miss the physical presence of my husband in his absences as much as I missed coffee.