Best 1022 quotes in «taste quotes» category

Especially for upwardly mobile young females, declaring one's enthusiasm for Austen (whose heroines almost always move up in social and economic status as a result of the sterling marital alliances they form) has been a classic means of indicating one's purported good taste, good breeding, and good sense: I am an especially adorable member of the ruling class.

Every category has its snobs: music, books, movies. There are so many things a man is only pressured into liking or disliking.

Every cuisine has its characteristic 'flavor principle,' Rozin contends, whether it is tomato-lemon-oregano in Greece; lime-chili in Mexico; onion-lard-paprika in Hungary, or, in Samin's Moroccan dish, cumin-coriander-cinnamon-ginger-onion-fruit. (And in America? Well, we do have Heinz ketchup, a flavor principle in a bottle that kids, or their parents, use to domesticate every imaginable kind of food. We also now have the familiar salty-umami taste of fast food, which I would guess is based on salt, soy oil, and MSG.

Everyone can definitely be pleased, but not simultaneously and not by one person or thing.

Experience is not necessarily accumulated over the extent of time lived. In my opinion, it is accumulated over the degree and variety of activities a person has been involved in

Extreme excellence in music is liable to yet stronger objections; to attain it, almost every other accomplishment must be neglected; and, when attained, it leads to an improper degree of intimacy with professional people. Music softens the mind—and if a master and his pupil are continually together, bad consequence may ensure: nevertheless, I would have you know and love music; but I would not have you doat upon it.

Give me one more night to taste the dark When wolves imitate a lone dog's bark Let those secrets remain unspoken Fallen angel's heart now lover's token Light grows dim burying riddle’s death Just breathe to free your one last breath

Flavour your life in such a way that anyone who thinks he or she is biting or back-biting you, will rather take smiles away unexpectedly and with surprises.

Gloria was still talking, something about how shooting people was in a sense safer than making art, in terms of avoiding serious lapses in taste.

For poor taste in husbands, her judgment rivaled Anne Boleyn's.

Free food samples today, free diarrhea tomorrow!

He caught her hand, his thumb feathering across the inside of her wrist. I am not a vampire. I have not turned. “I don’t understand.” He closed his eyes, smiled in his mind. She was back to using her professional, scientific voice. You were worried that I had turned. Earlier, in the woods, you were afraid I was a vampire. Just now you thought our people might be vampire. We are Carpathian, not the undead. Unless we turn. “Would you stay out of my head? Wait until you’re invited.” If I waited for an invitation from you, little red hair, I would be centuries old before it ever came about. The smile in his mind was just a little too sexy for her peace of mind. I was merely attempting to ease your fears. Now he sounded innocent. She laughed softly. “Do I have naïve stamped on my forehead?” Has anyone ever complained about your bedside manner? Shea raised her eyebrows. “I’m a surgeon. I don’t need a bedside manner. And in any case, I’ve never had such an outrageous patient before. Stop calling me red hair. And little red hair. And all the other things you call me. Dr. O’Halloran is appropriate.” For the first time his sensuous mouth softened, curved into a grin. The effect on her was shattering. It wasn’t right for a male to look that sexy. He should be banned from all female company. Handsome and sexy. I must be getting somewhere after all. His tone was lazy, teasing, a little bit husky. Shea laughed softly. It was impossible to be annoyed with him when he was in this mood. “You are handsome and sexy, but don’t let it go to your head. You’re also arrogant, dominating, and too ruthless for my taste.” She squashed him without a qualm. Jacques tugged on her hand, drew her close to the bed so that he could bring her palm to the warmth of his mouth. I am exactly to your taste.

Gratitude is the best food and fuel to start anything that you need to do - it will nourish and sustain you...and others too. Hankering will leave you hungry - or with with heart, head or belly ache - and tends to have or leave a sour or bitter taste too.

Good taste and the amount of money spent are interrelated but not necessarily dependent on each other.

great brands always balance identity, integrity, and efficiency.

Had a person attempted to taste me so soon after we met, I would have been alarmed; but since Athena was an octopus, I was thrilled. Although we couldn’t have been more different — I, a terrestrial vertebrate constrained by joints and bound to air; she, a marine mollusk with not a single bone, who breathed water — she was clearly as curious about me as I was about her.

He had his choice, and he liked the worst.

He is insatiable in love. His wife is a great cook.

Hope is like melted sugar, even if it changes the form, it still tastes sweet. And caramelized hope tastes even more delicious..So, under any circumstances, we should keep on hoping for the best

Her voice trailed off as she watched his tongue trace the outline of his lower lip. It was like watching a wolf taste the thrill of victory before a kill.

How you brew your life is how it’s gonna taste on your tongue. You have the choice to make it bitter or sweeter. It all depend on the actions that you take day in day out.

How does it feel to break a part of you each day and feed to the demons inside the other person in the name of love. How many days will you do that? Have your ever thought about what happens after those demons had enough of you and decide to leave you for the taste of new soul? Look at yourself once, How much of you is remaining for yourself? Will ever get that part of you back?

How does it feel to break a part of you each day and feed to the demons inside the other person in the name of love? How many days will you do that? Have you ever thought about what happens after those demons had enough of you and decide to leave you for the taste of new soul? Look at yourself once, How much of you is remaining for yourself? Will you ever get that part of you back?

How promising today's generation is. They can whip out their cellular phones like sheep, instantly take a million digital photos of their cat and then just delete them. But I'd like to see these kids try to artfully use a traditional film camera or make a super 8 home movie. Traditional film takes integrity, nostalgia, effort, patience and imagination - things that the 21st century has very little of. Everything these days, even a superior medium like film photography with an extensively vivid history and an iconic meaning, is becoming disposable in this age.

Hunger gives flavour to the food.

I always enjoy French, yet Australian are so fresh, but if you talk about white I prefer German. THAT'S right! Oh, they are all so Divine... A love that's more like libertine. And all that is my taste for wine.

I can't stand snobs with impeccable taste. These people say: "I'd rather a good book than a shallow person". They could cry over the plight of a fictitious character but they shamelessly insult real people because real people are "shallow" and according to snobs these "shallow people" don't deserve to live.

I am an acquired taste. Do with that what you will.

I am the avenging sword of taste and decency,

If I saw my father's dead, great grand mother's dead and many other people's dead... So I can see and your's dead, I just see the planet without you. I just feel it, taste it, - it hurts me from this but this is the truth.

I could smell something. Fear. I could taste it now. It tasted like blood in my mouth, and I could feel it slide through me and open me up when I saw him ...

I don't like shit too perfect. I want some human stake in my shit. If it's too perfect I ain't really with it. If it's too clean I ain't really with it. If it's too polished I don't really like it.

If a cube of sugar is placed in a small volume of water, its real value and essence is felt and appreciated. If it is however placed in a large volume of water, its real taste and essence is merely appreciated

I'll never let you brood over my numbness As long as your onion love I peel and cry I'll never let you taste my salty confusions As long as your closed-door I latch and sigh - From the poem- Behind

If you will look about you (which most people won't do)," says Sergeant Cuff, "you will see that the nature of a man's tastes is, most times, as opposite as possible to the nature of a man's business.

Ik lees nauwelijks fictie. Onder ons gezegd en gezwegen, ik vind het iets voor verveelde huisvrouwen. Fictie. Dan Brown heb ik gelezen, omdat zoveel mensen dat kochten. Ik dacht, eens kijken of de massa smaak heeft. Maar dat was dus niet zo.

I'm Chinese and in China making a beautiful meal for someone is the highest expression of love. Food is a very sensual, passionate thing. Culturally, I understood why my husband wanted to make this big meal for me. But he couldn't understand why I was having such a strong reaction to such a silly simple thing like yams. It's hard to understand how something that tastes sweet in on person's mouth, in another person's mouth can taste so bitter.

...indeed it is very true that, just as the finest air in the world is vulgarized beyond all bearing once the public has taken to hum it and the street organs to play it, so the work of art that has appealed to the sham connoisseurs, that is admired by the uncritical, that is not content to rouse the enthusiasm of only a chosen few, becomes for this very reason, in the eyes of the elect, a thing polluted, commonplace, almost repulsive.

In an age when mass pleasures like television are becoming more feeble and homogeneous, the very act of discrimination becomes a form of protest. At a time when mass marketing of food produces a product so disgusting that it has to be wrapped in distracting gimmicks to be sold, the mere fact of paying attention to what you eat and drink and telling the truth about taste is a revolutionary act.

Increase is so natural that it starts from before we taste the first breath of life at birth

In the end, we admire whatever will make us admirable. "Taste classifies, and it classifies the classifier

In reality there is no kind of evidence or argument by which one can show that Shakespeare, or any other writer, is "good". Nor is there any way of definitely proving that--for instance--Warwick Beeping is "bad". Ultimately there is no test of literary merit except survival, which is itself an index to majority opinion.

I pick up my teaspoon and take a small bite, and am transported. The cake is nutty and moist, the cream with the barest hint of rum, the dark chocolate ganache smooth and silky with just enough bitterness, the apricot bringing that perfect amount of tart brightness, cutting through the rich flavors, and making the whole thing sing in the mouth. It is perfectly balanced and absolutely amazing, and I'm mentally making notes to see if I can replicate it.

I remember an hypothesis argued upon by the young students, when I was at St. Omer's, and maintained with much learning and pleasantry on both sides, 'Whether supposing that the flavour of a big who obtained his death by whipping (per flagellationem extremem) superadded a pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering we can conceive in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting an animal to death?' I forget the decision.

I think “taste” is a social concept and not an artistic one. I’m willing to show good taste, if I can, in somebody else’s living room, but our reading life is too short for a writer to be in any way polite. Since his words enter into another’s brain in silence and intimacy, he should be as honest and explicit as we are with ourselves.

I rip open a packet of buffalo mozzarella, ivory spheres floating in a milky womb. I drain the liquid and cut a thick, creamy slice. Placing one of my runaway tomatoes on top, I stand at the kitchen counter and eat, the yellow oil running down my chin. It was rich and full. Like summer and sunshine.

I started thinking more about music. I thought I'd accepted the fact that, as part of "Being Gretchen," I didn't really like music, but in fact, the truth was slightly different: I thought I didn't like music, but in fact, I didn't approve of my own taste--I wished I liked sophisticated music, like jazz or classical or esoteric rock. Instead, my taste ran mostly to what might play on a lite FM station. Oh, well. Be Gretchen.

It took the mountain top, it seems to me now, to give me the sensation of independence. It was as if I'd discovered something I'd never tasted before in my short life. Or rediscovered it - for I associated it with the taste of water that came out of the well, accompanied with the ring of that long metal sleeve against the sides of the living mountain, as from deep down it was wound up to view brimming and streaming long drops behind it like bright stars on a ribbon. It thrilled me to drink from the common dipper. The coldness, the far, unseen, unheard springs of what was in my mouth now, the iron smell, all said mountain mountain mountain as I swallowed. Every swallow was making me a part of being here, sealing me in place, with my bare feet planted on the mountain and sprinkled with my rapturous spills. What I felt I'd come here to do was something on my own.

It is impossible to have bad taste, but many people have none at all.

It tastes like water spiked with strange.