Quotes About Indulgence

When I was a boy, I naively thought that this thing called happiness would be something I would wake up to find every day once I could smoke, drink and fornicate.

No one ever pretended that shopping for anything is a rational experience. If it were, would there be Fluffernutter? Laceless sneakers? Porkpie hats? Would the Chia Pet even exist?

Samuel Johnson once explained how alcohol compensated for sexual deprivation. When asked what he thought was the greatest pleasure in life, he replied: "Fucking; and the second was drinking. And therefore he wondered why there were not more drunkards, for all could drink tho' not all could fuck.

She loved watching him eat, as she always loved watching someone enjoy her flavors. But this was also very different. She could hear him breathing and making involuntarily sounds of enjoyment while he chewed and swallowed. It was primal, and she was intrigued, watching him lose control and give in to that.

I want sprinkles.

You've got a thing for Dylan whether you're with Austin or not. That's what this all boils down to -- Dylan is here and giving you the attention you crave, and Austin's far away and is barely picking up the phone. It's not your fault. It was bound to happen. I'm sure Austin will be the same way when he goes to camp and..." A catering person walks by with a tray of goodies. "Oh look! Brownies! See you in a few, K!

If a fast doesn't include any sacrifices, then it's not a fast. The discomfort is where the magic happens. Life zips along, unchecked and automatic. We default to our lifestyles, enjoying our privileges tra la la, but a fast interrupts that rote trajectory. Jesus gets a fresh platform in the empty space where indulgence resided.

So we spend, spend; amass, amass; indulge, indulge item by item, growing increasingly deaf to Jesus who described a simple life marked by generosity and underconsumption. Over time a new compartment develops for our spending habits, safely distanced from the other drawers like "discipleship" and "stewardship" (which has been helpfully reduced to tithing). And listen, I am first in line.

Make a normal chocolate cake from a box. (Amen and hallelujah. Ain't nobody got time for homemade cake.) After it cools completely, slice it into one-by-four-inch strips, around the

Died from eating a Hershey bar.

If I could write anything I wanted to, I'd write about the splendor of butter and sugar hitting your taste buds at the same time, or smooth pasta and sharp Romano, or a fat strawberry dipped in bittersweet chocolate.

Tell me about your relationship with food." How can I tell her anything she'd understand? Has she ever eaten a pan of brownies in one sitting? A half dozen salad-bar baked potatoes? A baker's dozen? What is it about slippery-sweet ice cream, about half-melted chocolate chips or moist homemade birthday cake, juicy steak seared on the grill, creamy potato salad, watermelon freshly cut and dripping with juice?

Anne and I were imbibing our second dirty martinis, and she'd ordered hazelnut-encrusted salmon and goat cheese salad while I'd asked for the macaroni with three cheeses and Dungeness crab, comfort food for the well heeled, or those with a paying sister.

Look I eat really well and I work out, but I also indulge when I want to. I don't starve myself in an extremist way. You're not taking away my coffee or my dairy or my glass of wine because I'd be devastated.

I am a bad man, very bad, but in a different way. I want to ravish you until we're both senseless with it, and then I want to do it all over again.

Be subtle. "Slow eating is good," she agreed. "Like the way I eat chocolate-covered strawberries. The big, pointed ones that I can barely get my lips around. I like to suck them real slow.

Laurel, I hope you find something like this, a little self-destructive habit you can turn to every once in a while, when you're tired of being good. It will keep you sane.

You've lived in America for twenty years. Eat badly, damn it.

if these mortals only knew, if they had the merest understanding of the grave, and of the eternity they will spend lying in it, they would eat chocolate for breakfast, caviar for lunch, and sing arias as they slopped the pigs.

She was careful not to indulge this line of thinking. "I don't remember him," she told Coz. "I have nothing to say." She did this for Coz's protection and her own—they were writing a story of redemption, of fresh beginnings and second chances. But in that direction lay only sorrow.

I try to eat in a way that makes me feel good. If that means a little bite of chocolate I do that, but I try not to use food as a reward for myself.

I do love Italian food. Any kind of pasta or pizza. My new pig out food is Indian food. I eat Indian food like three times a week. It's so good.

A: Anyone who looks like she does has to be somebody... B: What does she look like? A: An ice cream. I had a spoon I would have eaten her.

Sometimes I wish I were a cannibal – less for the pleasure of eating someone than for the pleasure of vomiting him.