Best 734 quotes in «eating quotes» category

Forgive our gawking,” said a man with a vicious scar running down his face. “Galen is usually eating so much he has no time for speech.” Laughter filled the hall, and Reaghan glanced over to find Galen shaking his head as he smiled. “Eating?” she asked. “Doona pay Malcolm a bit of attention,” Galen said, his gaze indifferent and his voice heavy with nonchalance. “He lies.

For many people, a western lifestyle equates to living in a toxic home, working a toxic job, eating toxic food, being sick from your thirties onward and eventually dying from preventable disease.

[French] Parents see it as their job to bring the child around to appreciating this [food]. They believe that just as they must teach a child how to sleep, how to wait, and how to say bonjour, they must teach her how to eat.

Gluttony is the act of digging a grave with your own teeth.

Good food and good eating are about risk. Every once in a while an oyster, for instance, will make you sick to your stomach. Does this mean you should stop eating oysters? No way.

Health first, then everything else.

‎'Having' Your Cake....a little perverted.... 'Eating' it too.....a lot perverted!

He munches a sandwich so messily that you can't help wondering if he's actually misunderstood the whole concept of eating.

He had carte blanche to eat whatever he wanted. No amount of broccoli and vitamin D kills ten lung tumors and I know not how many brain tumors. Have the tiramisu.

He had the red serviette tucked into his t-shirt at the neck which made me laugh. He hadn’t done this since our third date when I had told him off for his bad manners.

Her model of self-control with food is why I have never had an issue in this area.  Praise God for my mom's good example in how to eat.

Here is what I have always thought: that people, when they eat, are very dear. The eager lips, the flapping jaws, the trembling release of control-the guilty glances at one’s companions or at strangers. The focus, the great focus of eating. The pleasure in it. I remember-when I went out more-I remember watching people in restaurants. People who ate alone, lost in the pleasure of it, O the pleasure of it. Digging for food in the bottoms of their bowls, guarding their fork, bringing the food to their mouths. Staring off into some middle distance while chewing. Thinking of things known only to them. To watch others eat is a thing of joy to me. & it is the only time I can forgive myself for what I have become.

Home. The word circled comfortably in my mouth like bubble gum, swished around sweetly soft and satisfying. Home. Try saying it aloud to yourself. Home. Isn’t it like taking a bite of something lovely? If only we could eat words.

His meals were always punctual. Whether she cooked well or badly he did not know; it was a matter of total indifference to him. During his meals, which he ate at his writing desk, he was busy with important considerations. As a rule he would not have been able to say what precisely he had in his mouth. He reserved consciousness for real thoughts; they depend upon it; without consciousness, thoughts are unthinkable. Chewing and digestion happen of themselves.

Home cooking is always concerned with quality, because people you care about will eat the meal.

How sad for those who cannot enjoy what are after all prime pleasures of daily life, and perhaps for some the only ones, eating and drinking.

How is it that food STILL contains calories that make you gain weight in the 21st CENTURY?! It’s like scientists aren’t even trying!

How good it is, when you have roast meat or suchlike foods before you, to impress on your mind that this is the dead body of a fish, this the dead body of a bird or pig.

Hunter’s entire body writhed and squirmed. The side of his head was partly gone. A creature, like some monstrous melding of insect and eel, protruded from Hunter’s shoulder and as they stood there rooted in horror it took a vicious bite of Hunter’s flesh. Taylor was suddenly gone. Dekka’s face was grim, her eyes wet. “I tried . . . ,” Hunter said. He held up his hands, mimicked pressing them against his head. “It didn’t work.” “I can do it,” Sam said softly. “I’m scared,” Hunter said. “I know.” “It’s ’cause I killed Harry. God has to punish me. I tried to be good but I’m bad.” “No, Hunter,” Sam said gently. “You paid your dues. You fed the kids. You’re a good guy.” “I’m a good hunter.” “The best.” “I don’t know what’s happening. What’s happening, Sam?” “It’s just the FAYZ, Hunter,” Sam said. “Can the angels find me here so I can go to heaven?” Sam didn’t answer. It was Dekka who spoke. “Do you still remember any prayers, Hunter?” The insectlike creature was almost completely emerged from Hunter’s shoulder. Legs were becoming visible. It had wings folded against its body. It looked like a gigantic ant, or wasp, but silver and brass and covered with a sheen of slime. It was emerging like a chicken breaking out of an egg. Being born. And as the creature was born, it fed on Hunter’s numbed body. Jerky movements beneath Hunter’s shirt testified to more of the larvae emerging. “Do you remember ‘now I lay me down to sleep’?” Dekka asked. “Now I lay me down to sleep,” Hunter said. “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” Sam raised his hands, palms out. “If I should die—” Twin beams of light hit Hunter’s chest and face. His shirt caught fire. Flesh melted. He was dead before he could feel anything. Sam played the light up and down Hunter’s body. The smell was sickening. Jack wanted to look away, but how could he? Sudden darkness as Sam terminated the light. Sam lowered his hands to his side. They stood there in the darkness. Jack breathed through his mouth, trying not to smell the burned flesh. Then they heard a sound. Many sounds. Sam raised his hands and pale light glowed. Hunter was all but gone. The things that had been inside him were still there.

Hunter’s dead,” Taylor said without preamble. “It was these . . . these things. They came crawling up out of him and were eating him, oh God, I mean, it was like . . . I mean he was crying and Dekka prayed with him and he tried to fry his own brain just like he did with Harry only I guess it didn’t work, I guess he couldn’t do it, so Sam . . .” She swallowed. “Anyone have some water?” “What about Sam?” Astrid demanded. “He did it for him. Sam. I mean, he . . . Hunter was, you know . . . so Sam.” She pantomimed raising her hands, like Sam, like he would do when using his power. Astrid closed her eyes and crossed herself. “Rest in peace,” Edilio said and crossed himself as well. “Sam burned the boy?” Howard asked. Then, bitterly sarcastic said, “Yeah, you all pray to Jesus. Because Jesus is really providing a lot of help here. Sounds to me like Sam was the one doing what had to be done.

I am a miserable cook but an extremely talented eater.

If someone loves sweet things and constantly eats angel´s hair tartlets should this be diagnosed as having some sort of heavenly trichotillomania?

I kept eating until I belched. By this point I’d hit my limit. I’d eaten pretty much three quarters of a cucumber. Surely that’d be enough. I didn’t think I could stomach any more.

If this be magic, let it be an art lawful as eating.

I reject ‛poor’ as the artificial creation of humans. Hunger exists, though, and a hungry creature is entitled to eat.

I love food, I love everything about food – the growing, the purchasing, the cooking, the eating, the nourishment, the connection, the celebration. To me, food is so central to everything important in life – how we eat and how we feed others is such a strong reflection on who we are, our values, and how we live. And we get to express and enjoy this three times every single day!

I love children. Eating them, that is.

In geometry, whenever we had to find the area of a circle, pi * radius squared, I would get really hungry for pie. Square pie.

In the hierarchy of man's activities, eating was the lowest. Eating had become the object of a cult, but in fact it was but the preliminary to other, utterly contemptible motions. It occurred to him that he wanted to perform one of these too.

In any case I just cannot imagine attaching so much importance to any food or treat that I would grow irate or bitter at the mention of the suffering of animals. A pig to me will always seem more important than a pork rind. There is the risk here of confusing realism with cynicism, moral stoicism with moral sloth, of letting oneself become jaded and lazy and self-satisfied--what used to be called an 'appetitive' person.

I propose a toast to mirth; be merry! Let us complete our course of law by folly and eating! Indigestion and the digest. let Justinian be the male, and Feasting, the female! Joy the depths! Live, O creation! The world is a great diamond. I am happy. The birds are astonishing. What a festival everywhere! The nightingale is a gratuitous Elleviou. Summer, I salute thee!

It may sound crazy, but people like to eat what they are. If they have voracious habits they can't change, they like sweet foods. If they are tight with their money, they prefer to eat bread and mashed potatoes. If they are flamboyant they like to eat elaborately thin vegetables, fried and piled up high like a fancy hat. We are all cannibals, eating the secrets we have within.

I stayed there on the floor like that for a long, long time. Eating and crying. Crying and eating.

It is starting to become established science that eating corporate USA wheat may make you fat, sickly and possibly crazy.

It's never been true, not anywhere at any time, that the value of a soul, of a human spirit, is dependent on a number on a scale. We are unrepeatable beings of light and space and water who need these physical vehicles to get around. When we start defining ourselves by that which can be measured or weighed, something deep within us rebels. We don't want to EAT hot fudge sundaes as much as we want our lives to BE hot fudge sundaes. We want to come home to ourselves. (p. 174-5)

It's because I'm pregnant, Christian." He snorts, and his mouth twists into an ironic smile. "If I knew getting you knocked up was going to make you eat, I might have done it earlier.

It's not over till the fat lady eats!

It's like the difference between looking at a person and looking through their eyes." "That's how I feel about eating," Sirine interjects, and some of them laugh. Aziz lifts his chin and lowers his eyes silkily. "Please tell us more." "Well, I mean..." She fumbles for words and tears apart a slice of bread, trying to think what she means. "Something like... tasting a piece of bread that someone bought is like looking at that person, but tasting a piece of bread that they baked is like looking out of their eyes." "Fabulous metaphor," Aziz says. Nathan lifts his head. "That's giving other people power over you." "No more than usual," Aziz says. "Somebody's always going to have the power, and somebody's always got to bake the bread." He turns and smiles suavely at Sirine. "You've got the soul of a poet! Cooking and tasting is a metaphor for seeing. Your cooking reveals America to us non-Americans. And vice versa." "Chef isn't an American cook," Victor Hernandez says. "Not like the way Americans do food- just dumping salt into the pot. All the flavors go in the same direction. Chef cooks like we do. In Mexico, we put cinnamon in with the chocolate and pepper in the sweetcakes, so things pull apart, you know, make it bigger?

I was not so comfortable with my new authority that I could say 'We eat the chicken now!' but the magus had seen that I was considering it... "My purse is full enough," said the magus, "to keep you supplied with roast chickens." "So, so, so," I said. "We know who the power behind the throne is," and the magus laughed. "You eat more than Gen did after prison," he said. "I have more sympathy with him all the time. Are you going to finish that drumstick?" I asked. "I am. Stop staring at it.

I waited for him to come out. He didn't. I considered going in after him, but knew the fact that I had readied myself to kill him did not mean that he had readied himself to die.

Man was designed in a way in which he must eat in order to give him a solid reason to go to work everyday. This helps to keep him out of trouble. God is wise.

Mámá was fond of saying that nothing tastes as good as skinny feels—an aphorism I was pretty sure she'd cribbed from the thinspiration sites she subscribed to online—but I believed that anyone who said such things had never tasted chili-cheese fries with melted cheddar, fresh ground beef, and Tapatio sauce.

I watched him now, his hands working gingerly, as if he were learning to use them for the first time. He could not press down hard with a knife. His fingers shook. Each bite was a struggle; he chewed the food finely before swallowing.. The skin from his wrist to his knuckles was dotted with age spots, and it was loose, like skin hanging from a chicken soup bone.

Modern food may be the most compelling lie humans have ever told.

Michelin Star? I’d rather chew a French rubber tyre.

Nearly everyone wants as least one outstanding meal a day.

My favorite hobby is cooking and eating. There is nothing i can do well if i have not eaten well.

Most people stop eating not when their stomachs are full but when their plates are empty.

Neighbours complaining about someone’s dog making an awful racket. You could hardly blame the poor beast, its owner had died in her bed at least a fortnight before and there hadn’t been much left of the old girl worth eating.

Never in my life had I seen such a slim nothing of a figure eat like such a terror.