Quotes About Feasting

His appetite was enormous: he would eat a breakfast of haddock, poached eggs, bacon, chicken and woodcock before a day's shooting, lunch and dinner of ten to fourteen courses, elaborate teas, snacks of lobster salad or cold chicken, with a cold chicken left by his bed at night in case he became hungry.

Why place a shroud over all the splendor she saw around her, her vampire eyes feasting surely as she herself had feasted on all that we saw?

He invites us to eat Him up—to get Him and His Word into our gut, into our nerve endings, our reflexes, and our bloodstream such that He naturally flows out of our lives in acts of love and holiness, healing, evangelism, and justice.26 This is resolute feasting, the central act of the soul. Not pecking around the margins. Not nibbling as you would a snack.

Christmas--that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance--a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved.

My grandmother did all the cooking at Christmas. We ate fattened chicken. We would feed it even more so it would be big and fat.

Let me smile with the wise, and feed with the rich.

Strange to see how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody.

I hate feeling full, so Christmas is about the only time I really stuff myself.

An ambassador should study the welfare of his country, and not spend his time in feasting and riot.

Even in the miserable guilt we feel over our beastlike insensitivity, the glory of God shines. If God were not gloriously desirable, why would we feel sorrowful for not feasting fully on His beauty?

When the zombies win, their quest to eat and infect human flesh will continue unabated. They will have known only gorging, only feasting; they will not understand the world as anything other than a screaming buffet on the run. Yet there will be only silence and vacant rooms where once there was food, and the zombies, in their slow and stumbling way, will be surprised.

Almost every time we get together with family or friends, the conversation ends up being about food.

Time and again, when the goblets passed and seasoned fighters got flushed with beer they would pledge themselves to protect Heorot and wait for Grendel with whetted swords. But when dawn broke and day crept in over each empty, blood-spattered bench, the floor of the mead-hall where they had feasted would be slick with slaughter. And so they died, faithful retainers, and my following dwindled.

If we lived more simply most of the time, our feasts would be distinctive events. As it is, since most Americans have all kinds of special things to eat every day, for many the only way to make Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts uncommon is by eating more. It would be good if we could restore the concept of feasting not as something to regret (don't we all have to lose a few pounds after the Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's season?), but as a delight.

There is no such thing as excess in our taking of this spiritual food. There is no such virtue as temperance in spiritual feasting.

Mandami un pentolino di formaggio, perché io possa far baldoria quando ne ho voglia.

therefore, feasted and invited to all

eats most of his meals

If you ever have to support a flagging conversation, introduce the topic of eating.

Now is the time for drinking; now the time to beat the earth with unfettered foot.

Fasting and feasting are universal human responses, and any meal, shared with love, can be an agape.

We expect too much at Christmas. It's got to be magical. It's got to go right. Feasting. Fun. The perfect present. All that anticipation. Take it easy. Love's the thing. The rest is tinsel.

And in that day did the Lord God of hosts call to weeping, and to mourning, and to baldness, and to girding with sackcloth: And behold joy and gladness, slaying oxen, and killing sheep, eating flesh, and drinking wine: let us eat and drink; for to morrow we shall die.

And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred.