Quotes About Coffee

Predete il cappuccino: dopo le dieci del mattino e' immorale (forse anche illegale). Al pomeriggio e' insolito, a meno che faccia freddo; dopo pranzo, invece, e' da americani. - Un ejemplo, el cappuccino: después de las 10 de la mañana es inmoral (quizá es ilegal). En la tarde es insólito, a menos que haga frío; después de la comida, es cosa de americanos (gringos).

Such was the demand for sugar, the price of a sweet tooth was a toothless smile. Such was the demand for coffee, the price of caffeine was addiction, heart palpitations, osteoporosis and general irritability. The price of rum was chronic liver disease, alcoholism and permanent memory loss. The cost of tobacco was cancer, stained teeth and emphysema.

I could sense the surge of all those Ambossans who for years had filled those brightly lit tunnels during what they called the Rushing Hour. All those scurrying feet and harried minds. All those sugar-loving, coffee-drinking, baccy-smoking, rum-sipping commuters, most of whom hadn't a thought about who provided their little pleasures, their little dependencies.

ÃŽmi savurez cafeaua

Coffee. Garden. Coffee. Does a good morning need anything else?

The day after the day that I walk out the front door and the air is crisp, with just a hint of the Autumn days ahead, I put cinnamon in my coffee.

Coffee in styrofoam is against my religion.

My little bit of earth in the front garden is one of the places that I find my bearings. The rhythm of my day begins with a cup of coffee and a little bit of weeding or dreaming.

Maybe...in a way, this coffee reminds me of something. Maybe...maybe only a philosopher or a mad man would make this connection, but it's a little like life. I mean it's powerful going down and that doesn't even take into account the aftertaste, which really takes getting used to.

The coffee was so strong it snarled as it lurched out of the pot.

Some Saturday mornings, as soon as the mountains had bottled up the last cheerful sound of Bob and the truck, I, feeling like a cross between a boll weevil and a slut, took a large cup of hot coffee, a hot-water bottle, a cigarette and a magazine and WENT BACK TO BED. Then, from six-thirty until nine or so, I luxuriated in breaking the old mountain tradition that a decent woman is in bed only between the hours of seven pm and four am unless she is in labor or dead.

Not too bad, but I went and had coffee afterwards and sat for a bit. I hate the dentist.

I had a 2-week courtship with a fellow student in the fiction workshop in Iowa and a 5-minute wedding in a lawyer's office above the coffee shop where we'd been having lunch that day. And so I sent a cable to my father saying, 'By the time you get this, Daddy, I'll already be Mrs. Blaise!'

Like everyone else who makes the mistake of getting older, I begin each day with coffee and obituaries.

I sit in places like Costa Coffee in Banstead and write rubbish. I need a deadline. I think about the 44 tour dates and keep imagining standing in front of all these people. Then every day I write 15 jokes minimum.

I like to write in coffee shops in countries in which languages I do not speak are spoken. That way, you're surrounded by the buzz of humanity, but you aren't distracted by people's conversations.

As there was no rational foundation for Frederick's complaints, and as he could not give evidence of any real misfortune, Martinon was unable to understand his lamentations about existence. As for him, he went every morning to the school, after that took a walk in the Luxembourg, in the evening swallowed his half-cup of coffee; and with fifteen hundred francs a year, and the love of this work-woman, he felt perfectly happy.

Nel mezzo del cammin della vera vita, eravamo circondati da una malinconia oscura, che tante parole tristi e beffarde hanno espresso, nel caffè della gioventù perduta.

Don't tell me. I have been there. No longer ago than last Tuesday—or was it last Monday?—I went into one of those big restaurants on the Unter den Linden and ordered a small steak, French fried potatoes, a piece of pie and a cup of coffee—and what do you think those thieves charged me for it? Three marks fifty. That's eighty-seven and a half cents. Why, a man could have got the same meal at home for a dollar.

Myron sipped his coffee. Gourmet coffee. A year ago he never drank coffee. Then he started stopping into one of the new coffee bars that kept cropping up like bad movies on cable.

She opened the machine's mouth and put in a pod called Jet Fuel. The machine seemed to eat the pod and piss out the coffee.

Fester left. Ray put the water on to boil. Instant coffee. Loud Urdu-language voices were coming from upstairs. Sounded like the kids were coming home from school. Ray made his way to the shower and stayed under the spray until the hot water was gone. Milo

The diner waitress came over with a pot of coffee. Ilene nodded for her to pour, but Susan asked what herbal teas they carried. The waitress looked at her as if she'd asked for an enema. Susan said any tea would do. The waitress came back with a Lipton tea bag and poured hot water into the mug. Susan Loriman stared down at the drink as if it held some divine secret. "Lucas

There a coffee bar near here?" she asked. "A Starbucks," Myron said. "I'll drive." "I don't want to go with you, Emily." She gave him the smile. "Lost my charms, have I?" "They lost their effect on me a long time ago." Half lie. She