Best 569 quotes in «eggs quotes» category

When you are incubating new ideas, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket" is very good advice. But when you are seeking to transform your enterprise's portfolio by scaling a fledgling business to material size - say ten percent of total enterprise revenue - then it is imperative that you make that the singular focus of everyone in the enterprise for the two to three year period it is likely to require to reach its tipping point. Expecting to do two such scaling efforts in parallel is simply folly, yet that is what the "eggs/basket" idea is often used to justify.

When you feel neglected, think of the female salmon, who lays 3,000,000 eggs but no one remembers her on Mother's Day.

When you have bacon and eggs for breakfast, the chicken makes a contribution, the pig makes a commitment.

When you make a mistake, don't make a second one -- keeping it to yourself. Own up. The time to sort out rotten eggs is at the nest. The deeper you hide them in the case the longer they stay in circulation, and the worse impression they make when they finally come to the breakfast table.

When you're the cash cow that lays the golden goose egg, people are always going to cheer you on, whatever.

When you start with a portrait and search for a pure form, a clear volume, through successive eliminations, you arrive inevitably at the egg. Likewise, starting with the egg and following the same process in reverse, one finishes with the portrait.

When you take into public ownership a profitable industry the profits soon disappear. The goose that laid the golden eggs goes broody. State geese are not great layers.

When you start with a portrait and try to find pure form by abstracting more and more, you must end up with an egg.

When you take away the subsistence economy, then your farm population is seriously exposed to the vagaries of the larger economy. As it used to be, the subsistence economy carried people through the hard times, and what you might call the housewife's economy of cream and eggs often held these farms and their families together.

Where I'm from, people aren't quick. A girl once asked her mum, 'Can I have a Cadbury's Creme Egg?' The mum said, 'No, you can't Danielle, I've already told you, darling - bird flu!'

Where you really have your eggs in one basket and that breach happens and you know you should go but you're still in love and you just don't know what to do. It hits you because it's not like -- you're a cheater, and a liar, and I hate you, and you're no good, and I'm leaving. It's not that. It's like, I'm tormented. Even though you've done this and I know it, I still don't know what to do. I know I should go, but I don't want to. And that's why it's such a f***ed-up thing.

Whipped cream isn't whipped cream at all if it hasnt been whipped with whips, just like poached eggs isn't poached eggs unless it's been stolen in the dead of the night.

White pudding and eggs and sausages and cups of tea! How simple and beautiful was life after all!

White exists on the periphery of life. Bleached bones connect us to death, but the white of milk and eggs, for example, speaks to us of life.

Who wouldn't want to see some owl eggs?" I said, "Come on then, they are down here." He said, "Tallulah, the answer to who wouldn't want to see some owl eggs is... me!!!!

Why even moon a sorority girl if they can't see the swingy egg bag part of it?

With their tinted windows up, the cars of the rich go like dark eggs down the roads of Delhi. Every now and then an egg will crack open a woman's hand, dazzling with gold bangles, stretches out an open window, flings an empty mineral water bottle onto the road and then the window goes up, and the egg is resealed.

Why should human females become sterile in their forties, while female crocodiles continue to lay eggs into their third century?

Words are like eggs dropped from great heights; you can no more call them back than ignore the mess they leave when they fall.

wonder what day god created the egg' 'how should we know? we should not question. our stay on earth is not for long. let us rejoice and believe and give thanks'. 'eat a egg

You can't make an egg without frying an egg

You can get an Egg McMuffin all day; you just can't get the hamburger all day.

You can't have employment and despise employers ... No goose, no golden eggs.

Younger workers should have more freedom to build their retirement nest egg.

You don't have to be able to lay eggs to know when one of them is rotten.

You know how fighting fish do it? They blow bubbles and in each one of those bubbles is an egg and they float the egg up to the surface. They keep this whole heavy nest of eggs floating, and they're constantly repairing it. It's as if they live in both elements.

You know, out-of-touch liberals like Barack Obama say they want a strong economy, but in everything they do, they show they don't like business very much. But the economy, of course, is simply the product of all the businesses of the nation added together. So it's a bit like saying you like an omelet, but you don't like eggs.

You know how most people think that eggs are great sources of protein? Well, you only get about six grams from an egg, and about half of that is in the yolk and the other half is in the white. If instead you opt for a cup of lentils, you get a whopping eighteen grams of protein, plus all that fiber that makes you feel full and cleans out your body!

Your proudest moment is to watch your egg not just function, but to achieve on her own.

Your mind is a your temple, keep it beautiful and free. Don't let an egg get laid in it by something you can't see.

You take a book, and what can you do with a book? Can you cook an egg on a book? No. Can you dig a hole? No. Is it a good weapon? No. The fact that it's good for nothing kind of makes it almost all-important.

You start doing your research and realizing that the fertility rate for women drops considerably. And you're like, "Oh my God, now I want to get pregnant, and now it's a crazy time where I might not be able to get pregnant because I'm getting older and my eggs are aging and my uterus isn't as fertile as it used to be and my loins are not where they used to be.

Zombies smell worse than anything you can imagine if you haven’t been hunting things on the dark side of the world. It’s a ripe, gassy odour, like rotting eggs and meat gone bad, crawling blind with maggots. It’s road kill and decayed food and body odour all rolled into one package and tied up with puke.

Zerts' are what I call desserts. 'Trée-trées' are entrées. I call sandwiches 'sammies,' 'sandoozles,' or 'Adam Sandlers.' Air conditioners are 'cool blasterz' with a 'z' - I don't know where that came from. I call cakes 'big ol' cookies.' I call noodles 'long-ass rice.' Fried chicken is 'fry-fry chicky-chick.' Chicken parm is 'chicky-chicky-parm-parm.' Chicken cacciatore? 'Chicky-cacc.' I call eggs 'pre-birds,' or 'future birds.' Root beer is 'super water.' Tortillas are 'bean blankets.' And I call forks 'food rakes.'

Zimbabwe's stock market was the best performer this decade - but your entire portfolio now buys you 3 eggs

Are you cooking the peppers?" she asked. "I was going to slice them over the top with the cheese," Leo said. "Too much?" "Nope." Thea let him handle the jalapeños while she shaved off a few thin slices of cheese, a mild cheddar the cooks kept on hand for baking into cornbread or slicing onto burgers at staff meal. It was just the sort of thing she would have been moved to eat if she'd been by herself, except she would have just toasted it on bread or eaten it cold on crackers, meditating on the ring of toothmarks she left in each slice as she chewed. Leo swirled his pan, tilting it to let the last soft rivulets of egg hit the hot pan, and then wordlessly reached one hand back toward her. Thea set the sliced cheese in his palm, realizing as she did that she was a little more buzzed than she'd intended to be, because she placed the cheddar on Leo's warm skin as delicately as if it were a piece of jewelry, a hollowed, painted eggshell. He laid the cheese over the eggs, then scattered a thick layer of chorizo coins over the cheese, and finally a handful of fresh sliced jalapeño. "And we're done," Leo said. He paused, looking around frantically until Thea realized that he had forgotten where the plates were kept. She reached beneath the prep counter and handed him two. "Thanks," he said. He ran a spatula down the center of the eggs and lifted a golden orange pillow onto each plate, dropping yet more paprika-scented oil onto the stove and the counter.

But...well, Reg, tomorrow the sun will come up again, and I'm pretty sure that whatever happens we won't have found Freedom, and there won't be a whole lot of Justice, and I'm damn sure we won't have found Truth. But it's just possible that I might get a hard-boiled egg.

Both women and nonhuman animals have traditionally been viewed as property—"things” to be owned and controlled by those in power. While the plight of women is linked with that of nonhuman animals through a single system of oppression, through their comparative powerlessness and invisibility, and through sexual exploitation, it is important to elucidate these similarities through concrete examples. Links between women and nonhuman animals are nowhere more apparent than through the vulnerabilities of mothers and their young, and the control of pregnancies and offspring; this particular form of oppression is nowhere more blatant than on factory farms.

Chris- the one who wrote the halfway creepy thing about missing me so much when I didn't post and thinking I was dead- found it mind-boggling that before the Julie/Julia Project began, I had never eaten an egg. She asked, "How can you have gotten through life without eating a single egg? How is that POSSIBLE???!!!!!" Of course, it wasn't exactly true that I hadn't eaten an egg. I had eaten them in cakes. I had even eaten them scrambled once or twice, albeit in the Texas fashion, with jalapeños and a pound of cheese. But the goal of my egg-eating had always been to make sure the egg did not look, smell, or taste anything like one, and as a result my history in this department was, I suppose, unusual. Chris wasn't the only person shocked. People I'd never heard of chimed in with their awe and dismay. I didn't really get it. Surely this is not such a bizarre hang-up as hating, say, croutons, like certain spouses I could name. Luckily, eggs made the Julia Child way often taste like cream sauce. Take Oeufs en Cocotte, for example. These are eggs baked with some butter and cream in ramekins set in a shallow pan of water. They are tremendous. In fact the only thing better than Oeufs en Cocotte is Ouefs en Cocotte with Sauce au Cari on top when you've woken up with a killer hangover, after one of those nights when somebody decided at midnight to buy a pack of cigarettes after all, and the girls wind up smoking and drinking and dancing around the living room to the music the boy is downloading from iTunes onto his new, ludicrously hip and stylish G3 Powerbook until three in the morning. On mornings like this, Oeufs en Cocotte with Sauce au Cari, a cup of coffee, and an enormous glass of water is like a meal fed to you by the veiled daughters of a wandering Bedouin tribe after one of their number comes upon you splayed out in the sands of the endless deserts of Araby, moments from death- it's that good.

Como vulgarmente se dice, se le ponía la piel de gallina cada vez que se rompía un huevo.

Early as it was, every one had breakfasted, and my basin of bread and milk was put on the oven-top to await my coming down. Every one was gone about their work. The first to come into the house-place was Phillis with a basket of eggs. Faithful to my resolution, I asked - "What are those?" She looked at me for a moment, and then said gravely - "Potatoes!" "No! they are not," said I. "They are eggs. What do you mean by saying they are potatoes?" "What do you mean by asking me what they were, when they are plain to be seen?" retorted she. We were both getting a little angry with each other.

For the sake of farmed animals, who suffer terribly in their artificially short lives, please do not reject red flesh in preference for poultry flesh. Please do not replace flesh with eggs or dairy products. Please do not buy animal products that try to disguise cruel exploitation behind meaningless feel-good labels such as “free range,” “cruelty free,” “organic,” and “natural.” For the sake of your own health, and for the sake of farmed animals, please eliminate (or at least reduce) your consumption of all animal products.

Everyone can make scrambled eggs, Remy. It's programmed into you at birth, the default setting. Like being able to swim and knowing not to mix pickles with oatmeal. You just know.

He shoveled the bacon out on a plate and broke the eggs in the hot grease and they jumped and fluttered their edges to brown lace and made clucking sounds.

He worked at a feverish pace. He experimented with all manner of pies: tortoises, eel, chicken, frog, mushroom, artichoke, apricot, cherry, and his favorite of all, a luscious strawberry pie. He made omelets, stuffed eggs, and poached eggs with rosemary over toast. There were soups galore: fennel, tortellini, Hungarian milk, millet, kohlrabi, pea, and his famous Venetian turnip soup, which this time he made with apples instead. He molded jelly into the shapes of the cardinali crests, colored with wine, carrot, and saffron. He delighted most in the moments when he worked with his favorite knife, carving and slicing roasted cockerel, peacock, capons, turtledoves, ortolans, blackbirds, partridges, pheasants, and wood grouse. Every slice of the knife gave him greater confidence and belief in his power to make the world his.

If anyone does not have three minutes in his life to make an omelette, then life is not worth living.

How is destruction beautiful?" He asked in a challenging tone. "You may think that a broken egg is ugly and messy," she answered, "but the cake it goes into is beautiful and won't hold together without it." "Eggs don't get blown up. They get broken." "You've never seen me bake," she replied with a smirk.

Aw, kiss him, Gwen, clamored a hundred perky eggs. Shut up, she rebuked. We don't even know him, and until moments ago we thought he was dead. That's no way to start a relationship.

If you put all your eggs in one basket, any fall will be a messy one.

If there is a hard, high wall and an egg that breaks against it, no matter how right the wall or how wrong the egg, I will stand on the side of the egg. Why? Because each of us is an egg, a unique soul enclosed in a fragile egg. Each of us is confronting a high wall. The high wall is the system which forces us to do the things we would not ordinarily see fit to do as individuals . . . We are all human beings, individuals, fragile eggs. We have no hope against the wall: it's too high, too dark, too cold. To fight the wall, we must join our souls together for warmth, strength. We must not let the system control us -- create who we are. It is we who created the system. (Jerusalem Prize acceptance speech, JERUSALEM POST, Feb. 15, 2009)