Quotes About Excess

I love chocolate and I think there is no such thing as too much.

Superstars have so much adulation and love which people get used to, living it up in fast lane.

Up until the Depression, recession had a moral character: it was supposed to purge the body economic of the greed and excess that attends a business expansion.

I guess anything in excess is no good for you, even things that are supposed to be healthy.

You know when people overdo it... and their breasts are way too large or they overdo their face, I mean, that's what gives plastic surgery a bad name.

A person who is gifted sees the essential point and leaves the rest as surplus.

Our enormous surplus revenues are illogical and oppressive.

You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from women.

You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from women. Women made me sick.

California, the department-store state. The most of everything and the best of nothing.

California, the department-store state. The most of everything and the best of nothing. Here we go again.

Ata që shpenzojnë paret e tyre për tu eksituar me mënyra të dorës së dytë, janë nevrikë si dukeshat që nuk e gjejnë dot banjën

the world had gone too far in its enthusiasm for moderation and the thing had to be stopped

Extraordinarily excessive sensuality it may be .. but it all comes down to the same thing in the end, and one means is surely as good as another, since the end obtained is always the same. In any case the exceptional, endlessly repeated, is no different than the banal; and unceasing recapitulation can add nothing, in the end, to the sum of experience. I am weary and hopeless three times the dupe. Why have you trained me in the shame of abominable sins?

Don't worry about him, the girl said. He's rich. He has 3,859 Rolls Royces.

If there is anything more dangerous to the life of the mind than having no independent commitment to ideas, it is having an excess of commitment to some special and constricting idea.

Hugo planned a five-course meal: smoked duck, oyster stew, roast beef with mashed yams, a salad of apples with beets and blue cheese, then chocolate banana cream pie. Rich, rich, and richer still. Ben made pitchers of martinis and set aside thirty-five bottles of a tried-and-true Napa cabernet, pure purple velvet, and an Oregonian pinot gris, grassy and effervescent.

None of this Mad Mario showmanship- orange clogs and Bermuda shorts fit for Babar, sweetbreads garnished with squash blossoms stuffed with cheese from the milk of Angora goats who live in the Pyrenees. Litchi sorbet veined with coconut milk and honey from Crete.

Jake, who is both fitter and more hedonistic than me, once told me what they say about martinis: One's perfect. Two's too many. And three's not enough.

Frenchly, they set off with 1,300 litres of claret, fifty bottles of Pernod, and a mechanical piano.

The powdered sugar had caramelized and blackened into a sucking tar pit in which my ladyfingers languished like so many sunk mastadons.

I sat down to a lavish meal of Irish stew, boiled salad with beets, celery, potatoes doused in cream sauce, haddock and rice, and a long cheeseboard piled with pungent varieties and tasty rolls. I ate with fiendish voraciousness, and slowly, my hunger subsided and my nerves calmed.

If stupid were fuel, we would never run out.

treatment. You know, champagne, caviar