Best 1447 quotes in «coffee quotes» category

It's over," Keelie said. Too bad. But I want you to know, I will always love you." She narrowed her eyes and said, "When you look at me and say that, are you thinking of Dolly Parton or Whitney Houston?" Burt Reynolds," he said. She nearly spit out her coffee when she laughed, then she said, "That almost makes me want to try again.

It turned out people truly did cry into their coffee cups.

It tastes of the most bitter poison . . I've never tasted something so disgusting." - Mark Blackthorn

It was as if the air was fragranced with potential and the coffee flavoured with facts.

It was a very ordinary day, the day I realised that my becoming is my life and my home and that I don't have to do anything but trust the process, trust my story and enjoy the journey. It doesn't really matter who I've become by the finish line, the important things are the changes from this morning to when I fall asleep again, and how they happened, and who they happened with. An hour watching the stars, a coffee in the morning with someone beautiful, intelligent conversations at 5am while sharing the last cigarette. Taking trains to nowhere, walking hand in hand through foreign cities with someone you love. Oceans and poetry. It was all very ordinary until my identity appeared, until my body and mind became one being. The day I saw the flowers and learned how to turn my daily struggles into the most extraordinary moments. Moments worth writing about. For so long I let my life slip through my fingers, like water. I'm holding on to it now, and I'm not letting go.

It was normal to drink two pots of coffee during an extreme night shift.

I USED TO make love. Now I Make coffee.

I've often wondered - where do the people who WORK at coffee shops go to meet their friends - Do they go to Conference Rooms? And if they don't meet in conference rooms, I'd like them to know I'd be willing to rent out my grandma's basement. -James Lee Schmidt and Jarod Kintz

I want coffee to taste of coffee. Maybe a little cream and sugar. I do not want coffee that tastes of potpourri or fruit or nuts or like licking the bottom of my spice drawer. And while I should not be eating donuts to begin with, I REALLY don't want to waste precious donut-related calories on Dunkin'. I'll head to the Doughnut Vault for a pistachio or coconut old fashioned, or maybe grab a Chocolate Bacon from Fritz Bakery for a real treat.

I was driven to go into book writing by the very nature of journalism and blogging. Both are ephemeral. Journalists and bloggers can have humongous egos. But in the end, what they write is really a passing show. I wanted something more lasting — a record of sorts, something people can look back to and relish again like hot, home–brewed coffee.

I went out the kitchen to make coffee - yards of coffee. Rich, strong, bitter, boiling hot, ruthless, depraved. The life blood of tired men.

I wear the universe backwards. I imagine putting stars in my coffee, and sugar in the sky. I imagine going fishing in clouds, and watching the sun hide behind lakes. I'm too busy dancing with my imagination to even tip toe with reality for a second. They say I'm going mad. They're right.

I will wake up and make coffee for you and me before you wake up I will sit in the chair next to the bed just to look at your beautiful smiling face I love to see you when you sleep tenderly in the bed dreaming about you and me in a faraway island...

* Location: Break room. * Caffeine Dependency: Approaching twelve-step program territory.

Kopi yang baik adalah kopi yang dengannya sanggup membangkitkan penyeduhnya untuk bisa mengingat Kekasihnya.

Love doesn't go away overnight. It sometimes stays for coffee.

Local fog in Venice has a name: nebbia. It obliterates all reflections ... and everything that has a shape: buildings, people, colonnades, bridges, statues. Boat services are canceled, airplanes neither arrive, nor take off for weeks, stores are closed and mail ceases to litter one’s threshold. The effect is as though some raw hand had turned all those enfilades inside out and wrapped the lining around the city... the fog is thick, blinding, and immobile... this is a time for reading, for burning electricity all day long, for going easy on self-deprecating thoughts of coffee, for listening to the BBC World Service, for going to bed early. In short, a time for self-oblivion, induced by a city that has ceased to be seen. Unwittingly, you take your cue from it, especially if, like it, you’ve got company. Having failed to be born here, you at least can take some pride in sharing its invisibility...

Me invitó a café, la nueva infusión que, procedente de Turquía, se hace cada vez más popular y causa furor en toda Europa. [...] Es un líquido intensamente negro, muy aromático, con un sabor amargo que puede ser amortiguado añadiéndole azúcar.

Maybe those verses in Ezekiel about the dry bones coming back to life were actually a prophecy in reference to caffeine.

Mana yang lebih pahit; Kopi tanpa cumbuan gula, atau rindu yang dibiarkan gigil tanpa nama?

Marry the person who gives you the same feeling you get when you take the very first sip of COFFEE in the morning!

Mindful Monday Humans, May your coffee kick in before reality does.

Miliony lidí letos získají řidičský průkaz poté, co cvičnými jízdami strávili méně než osmnáct hodin. Než baristovi ve Starbucks svěří klíčky od přístroje na espresso, musí podstoupit školení trvající čtyřiadvacet hodin.

Most people who spend their lives are dreaming of having a summer house somewhere in the suburb of their city where they could lie in the hot sun all day long, drinking coffee and juice. They think they are enjoying life, but really they are spending life.

Most people think coffee is what wakes you up in the morning. I believe it’s actually brushing your teeth with hand lotion instead of toothpaste.

Montrose tasted the coffee. No bitterness, a blend of several beans--some of which had been grown precisely the same way for over a thousand years--and just the right temperature. If pressed, he could name the chemical makeup of the coffee and the reaction of the human body to the brew. Yet there was still an almost mystical sense of well-being that few things imparted just by smell, taste, and warmth, and coffee was one.

My Cup of AL MO MOTTO...oh yeah, I love that taste in my mouth but drinking too much can be too much and a bit of coffee love here and there is better than none.

Mrs. Windemere always had a cup of hot coffee waiting for me. Black, which, she said, was the only way to drink it if you wanted to be awake to serve the god of Creativity

Nerviosismo de la ciudad: no poder abrir el paquetito de azúcar para el café.

My mom is a black-no-sugar woman, but I basically believe in turning my coffee into cheesecake.

New Rule: Gun-control people have to stop pressuring Starbucks to ban guns. I want my gun nuts overcaffeinated, twitchy, and accident-prone. That way, the problem will take care of itself. Plus, if just one gun nut kills just one pseudo-intellectual writing a screenplay-slash-graphic-novel on his iPad, natural selection is doing its job.

Never underestimate the power of a good cup of coffee.

Nick drank the coffee, the coffee according to Hopkins. The coffee was bitter. Nick laughed. It made a good ending to the story. His mind was starting to work. He knew he could choke it because he was tired enough. He spilled the coffee out of the pot and shook the grounds loose into the fire. He lit a cigarette and went inside the tent. He took off his shoes and trousers, sitting on the blankets, rolled the shoes up inside the trousers for a pillow and got in between the blankets. Out through the front of the tent he watched the glow of the fire when the night wind blew on it. It was a quiet night. The swamp was perfectly quiet. Nick stretched under the blanket comfortably. A mosquito hummed close to his ear. Nick sat up and lit a match. The mosquito was on the canvas, over his head. Nick moved the match quickly up to it. The mosquito made a satisfactory hiss in the flame. The match went out. Nick lay down again under the blankets. He turned on his side and shut his eyes. He was sleepy. He felt sleep coming. He curled up under the blanket and went to sleep.

Never say no to coffee

. . . never seen him inspired by any more dangerous stimulant than strong coffee, of which he was very fond & of which [he] drank freely. MacIntosh says that the measure of a man's brain is the amount of coffee he can drink with impunity. SARAH HELEN WHITMAN (POE'S FIANCÉE) TO JOHN INGRAM DECEMBER 13, 1874

No milk. It is black coffee, pure but strong, that fortifies against the powers of darkness with which the world is filled.

No coffee, no way.

Nothing like a hot cup of black filtered coffee, none of that fancy espresso crap. Especially from those new pod machines. What is this, a spaceship?

Nurse!" Gay sat up, still dazed, but slowly awakening, in the lovely unaccustomed luxury of sheets. "I'm not mad, and I'm not ill, but I've been twenty thousand years away. And I haven't come back for gruel. Tell me: is there still some coffee left in the world?

Nu le era foame. Desfăcură un borcan cu dulceață, o cutie cu biscuiți, iar Jeanne făcu cu foarte mare grijă o cafea, din care mai rămăseseră vreo cincizeci de grame, o moca pură, rezervată până atunci marilor ocazii. -Dar ce ocazie mai mare vom găsi? întreabă Maurice. -Nici una de acest fel, sper, răspunse soția lui. Totuși, trebuie să recunoaștem că nu vom mai găsi curând o cafea ca asta, daca mai durează războiul. -Aproape că-i dai savoare păcatului, zise Maurice, inhalând aroma pe care o răspândea cafetiera.

Oh and P.S.? I am in dire need of more coffee. Industrial strength." "But we're going to sleep soon," I say. "I know." Laila shudders. "Addiction is a bitch.

One of Francie's favorite stores was the one which sold nothing but tea, coffee, and spices. It was an exciting place of rows of lacquered bins and strange, romantic, exotics odors. There were a dozen scarlet coffee bins with adventurous words written across the front in black China ink: Brazil! Argentine! Turkish! Java! Mixed Blend! The tea was in smaller bins: beautiful bins with sloping covers. They read: Oolong! Formosa! Orange Pekoe! Black China! Flowering Almond! Jasmine! Irish Tea! The spices were in miniature bins behind the counter. Their names marches in a row across the shelves: cinnamon-- cloves-- ginger-- all-spice-- ball nutmeg--curry-- peppercorns-- sage-- thyme-- marjoram.

Ok so cotton is the fabric of our lives. But coffee is the liquid of our lives.

Oh yes! I have couple-goals too. I love to couple myself with- Books, Coffee and Mountains.

Ölüm yaklaştığı zaman, dünya zevkleri çürür.

One of the single most important things a writer must do, besides writing, is reading ... ... and drinking coffee.

Only two kinds of people drink their coffee black: cops and serial killers.

Our mornings were never "rise and shine." They were "rise and fight." They were loud and ravaging. They were heavy and unnerving, like the after-math of a war, with unresolved territorial disputes. They were never serene, but they were beautiful. More beautiful than the smile you wear when you step out of the shower, more tempting than the sight of you brewing coffee from across the kitchen bar, more promising than a glorious victory, bigger than all our tumultuous past. Bigger than you. Bigger than I.

Oscar Wilde may have quipped that one can “never be overdressed or overeducated,” but Wilde did not live in our era of overeducated baristas.

Our surroundings fade and we exist in unison, two people who once shared cups of coffee, unprecedentedly ourselves in a changing world.