Quotes About Hospitality

bare-bones place, but it had room service and a minibar.

Meyer's version of service, however, was a little different from the norm and sprang from another source. "What I've learned," he said, "is that I have an intense, nearly neurotic interest in seeing people have a good time." Enlightened hospitality was his name for the process of making sure they did.

Surprised to be here?" "Actually, yes," Joe admitted. "I'm just wondering how many business legends would open their homes to a perfect stranger on a Saturday morning." Pindar nodded as they walked along the path. "Actually, successful people do this all the time. Typically, the more successful they are, the more willing they are to share their secrets with others.

friends to the dining hall as guests and pay for their food. I suspect that for some of these kids, that was the main meal they

My whole soul was so bent upon reaching Hampton that I did not have time to cherish any bitterness toward the hotel-keeper.

I agree with my Uncle Sydney, as I once heard him say he did not care to read a book or go to a play about people he would not care to meet at his own dinner table.

Nevertheless, Blecharczyk came through with a new version of a site on March 3, a week before the annual conference in Austin, Texas. The new slogan was "A friend, not a front desk.

Wilde!" Nicole called out, clearly happy to see him. She brought him a beer. When it came to beer, he was, like the hotel, "unfussy," but he enjoyed whatever local ale was on tap. Today, that was a "blonde lager" from the Asbury Park Brewery. Nicole leaned over the bar to buss his cheek. Tom down at the other end gave him a wave.

visitors. He

The receptionist wore a hideous wig and looked at us as though we'd just plopped out of a dog's behind. I

Welcome to my humble abode," he said. He offered her a drink. She passed. He had laid out finger sandwiches. Wendy took one just to be polite. The finger sandwich was awful enough to make her wonder whether the moniker was also an ingredient list. Cherston was already jabbering on about his classmates. "We

At an official reception, or dinner party, the real purpose of the event is to socialize, to talk with the other guests and participants—eating and drinking is secondary.

But no opposition grumbling could spoil the moment for the new president-elect. He donned his overcoat, thanked the telegraph operators for their hard work and hospitality, and stuffed the final dispatch from New York into his pocket as a souvenir. It was about time, he announced to one and all, that he "went home and told the news to a tired woman who was sitting up for him.

That boy is your company. And if he wants to eat up that tablecloth, you let him, you hear?

She seemed glad to see me when I appeared in the kitchen, and by watching her I began to think there was some skill involved in being a girl.

There's some folks who don't eat like us, she whispered fiercely, but you ain't called on to contradict 'em at the table when they don't. That boy's yo' comp'ny and if he wants to eat up the table cloth you let him, you hear?

Ladies bathed before noon, after their three o-clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft tea-cakes with frosting of sweat and sweet talcolm.

And so they went, down the row of laughing women, around the diningroom, refilling coffee cups, dishing out goodies as though their only regret was the temporary domestic disaster of losing Calpurnia.

Do you itch, Jem?" I asked as politely as I could. He did not answer. "Come on in, Jem," I said. "After while.

There's some folks who don't eat like us," she whispered fiercely, "but you ain't called on to contradict 'em at the table when they don't.

That boy's yo' comp'ny and if he wants to eat up the table cloth you let him, you hear?

Mr. Fred shook hands with her, said he was glad to see her, drew out a wet Coke from the machine, wiped it on his apron, and gave it to her. This is one good thing about life that never changes, she thought. As long as he lived, as long as she returned, Mr. Fred would be here with his...simple welcome. What was that? Alice? Brer Rabbit? It was Mole. Mole, when he returned from some long journey, desperately tired, had found the familiar waiting for him with its simple welcome.

Atticus said it was the polite thing to talk to people about what they were interested in, not about what you were interested in. Mr. Cunningham displayed no interest in his son, so I tackled his entailment once more in a last-ditch effort to make him feel at home.

Ladies bathed before noon, after their three o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft tea-cakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcolm.