Quotes About Indulgence

The flesh would fain be indulged upon the account of grace: and every word that is spoken of mercy, it stands ready to catch at, and to pervert to its own corrupt aims and purposes. To apply mercy, then, to a sin not vigorously mortified, is to fulfil the end of the flesh pon the gospel.

a reigning logic of efficiency insists that money spent on the public good is somehow a form of indulgence. There

Wine giveth the desire but taketh the ability

Imaginary evils soon become real ones by indulging our reflections on them.

Lucas bought a purple-flavored Popsicle

Colonel, I'm giving you a direct order. Eat the fucking cookie.

Anyway, I might have just gone on about porn too long.

God damn it, Thomas said as he sat down at the table, carrying a tray so piled with food that it was a miracle he could even lift it. Aren't we all just too good-looking for words.

Angrily consume your bacon on the toilet, is my advice.

It was the black jellybeans that did it.

at least a couple of these are going to make you feel ravenously hungry. Go ahead and eat all you want, but avoid excessively fatty foods, since one of these is going to tell your body to purge fats in a way that absolutely challenges normal sphincter control." "That's … not great." "It's a mess. Seriously, don't even think about trying to fart for the next eighteen hours. It's not a fart. You will regret it.

It was the 'he likes someone else and now I'm sad and want to go eat an entire pie' thing.

He drank too much when he could get it, ate too much when it was there, talked too much all the time.

There's a capacity for apetite, Samuel said, that a whole heaven and earth of cake can't satisfy

Poetry was a secret vice, and properly so.

Ei mikään vedä vertoja oluen ensimmäiselle puraisulle.

You love beer so much. I'll bet some day you'll go in and order a beer milk shake.

Coming in from his work, he gorged himself on fried food and went to bed and to sleep in the resulting torpor.

Bought two quarts of beer for breakfast.

And here he was, a big, fat, grown-up whoremaster, leaning his stomach against his desk while his cheeks darkened with blood and excited chills ran up his legs and thighs.

Wickedness was like food: once you got started it was hard to stop; the gut expanded to take in more and more.

Sex is like money; only too much is enough.

Critics are like pigs at the pastry cart.

He settles back with a small handful of cashews; dry-roasted, they have a little acid sting to them, the tang of poison that he likes.