Best 1447 quotes in «coffee quotes» category

She is the gin. Cold, intoxicating. Gives you a rush, makes you warm inside, makes you lose your head. Take too much, it makes you sick and shuts you down. He is the coffee, hot, steaming, filtered. You have to add stuff to it to make it taste good. Grinds your stomach, makes you jittery, wired, and tense. Bad trip, keeps you up, burns you out. Coffee and gin don’t mix, never do, everybody keeps trying and trying to make it taste good.

She tasted of coffee and day old poetry.

Sheriff Hayes looks like he's probably the subject of many explicit fantasies concocted by at least half the population of the county which he serves. Myself included. His dark brown hair and eyes, which remind me of dark roast coffee, complement his tanned skin and make me suddenly crave a shot of espresso.

She was made mostly of coffee and empty spaces.

Somehow, the Good Lord don't want to see no man start a cold morning with just black coffee.

some poems froth and foam and rise... out of my morning cup of mist-sweetened coffee.

Sometimes success is simply being able to drink an entire cup of coffee while it's still hot.

She put her cup down and sighed again with pleasure. "I can't think how the Nonconformists have failed to discover coffee." "Discover it?" "Yes. As a snare. It does far more for one than drink. And yet no one preaches about it, or signs pledges about it. Five mouthfuls and the world looks rosy.

She was an ocean, confined in a coffee mug. And she had the galaxies, confined in her pretty eyes.

So instead I stare at the steaming liquid dripping into a coffeepot and start thinking of steaming volcanoes. And dinosaurs standing around drinking coffee, staring up at the giant meteor soaring through the air, commenting on how pretty it is.

Some of the world's most effective thoughts happen over a brew of morning's coffee

Sometimes all I need is a cup of coffee to suppress my sleep and let my dreams come out as words.

Soy milk and two sugars." Just this past week, Rachel had become convinced that how people took their coffee gave some secret insight into their characters. Were people who took their coffee black unyielding? Did people who liked their coffee with milk and no sugar have mother issues? She had a notebook behind the coffee counter in which she wrote her findings. Willa decided to keep her on her toes by making up a different request every day. Rachel walked back to the coffee bar to write that down in her notebook. "Hmm, interesting," she said seriously, as if it made all the sense in the world, as if she'd finally figured Willa out. "You don't believe in ghosts, but you do believe that how I take my coffee says something about my personality?" "That's superstition. This is science.

Sometimes when you had nothing at all and it was raining and you were alone in the flat, it was wonderful to know that you could have something even though it was only a cup of black and bitter coffee.

Stay Calm, Stay Covered, Stay Considerate, Stay Cautious & Stay Caffeinated.

Stencil had called from a Hungarian coffee shop on York Avenue known as Hungarian Coffee Shop

Sometimes, they just make coffee cups too small.

Sure some medical experts say coffee could be a health hazard, but they obviously never built a web site before!

Stupor, insanity, and curling up with a good book.” Bright finished his coffee and slipped out of bed. “And I was wondering last night how I would fill my time today. Let me get dressed and have a spot of breakfast first.

Ten years after the Boston Tea Party, tea was still far more popular than coffee, which only became the more popular drink in the mid-nineteenth century. Coffee's popularity grew after the duty on imports was abolished in 1832, making it more affordable. The duty was briefly reintroduced during the Civil War but was abolished again in 1872.

Thanks for going in with me,” I told her. “No problem, there is too much testosterone in the car without you. I’m outnumbered. Besides, coffee sounds perfect,” Nessa, said as she got in line for our drinks. -Cora and Nessa at Starbucks

Strong Woman Sometimes I think, that I know her, From a distant past, where images are blur, Her smile, coffee and morning walk, Her questions, songs and random talk, She is from a distant land, Where the sun shines bright, Her attitude, love and courage, makes everything right, - To my friend Grozdana

Take a shower. Wash away every trace of yesterday. Of smells. Of weary skin. Get dressed. Make coffee, windows open, the sun shining through. Hold the cup with two hands and notice that you feel the feeling of warmth. 
 You still feel warmth.
Now sit down and get to work. Keep your mind sharp, head on, eyes on the page and if small thoughts of worries fight their ways into your consciousness: threw them off like fires in the night and keep your eyes on the track. Nothing but the task in front of you.  Get off your chair in the middle of the day. Put on your shoes and take a long walk on open streets around people. Notice how they’re all walking, in a hurry, or slowly. Smiling, laughing, or eyes straight forward, hurried to get to wherever they’re going. And notice how you’re just one of them. Not more, not less. Find comfort in the way you’re just one in the crowd. Your worries: no more, no less. Go back home. Take the long way just to not pass the liquor store. Don’t buy the cigarettes. Go straight home. Take off your shoes. Wash your hands. Your face. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. It’s still beating. Still fighting. Now get back to work.
Work with your mind sharp and eyes focused and if any thoughts of worries or hate or sadness creep their ways around, shake them off like a runner in the night for you own your mind, and you need to tame it. Focus. Keep it sharp on track, nothing but the task in front of you. Work until your eyes are tired and head is heavy, and keep working even after that. Then take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes.
Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more. 
You’re doing just fine.
You’re doing fine. I’m doing just fine.

Tea is certainly as much of a social drink as coffee, and more domestic, for the reason that the teacup hours are the family hours."

That, I think, is the power of ceremony. It marries the mundane to the sacred. The water turns to wine; the coffee to a prayer.

The best thing about being a writer is that 'work' is always something you love, plus usually accompanied by tea, coffee and cakes of some sort.

The challenge lies in knowing how to bring this sort of day to a close. His mind has been wound to a pitch of concentration by the interactions of the office. Now there are only silence and the flashing of the unset clock on the microwave. He feels as if he had been playing a computer game which remorselessly tested his reflexes, only to have its plug suddenly pulled from the wall. He is impatient and restless, but simultaneously exhausted and fragile. He is in no state to engage with anything significant. It is of course impossible to read, for a sincere book would demand not only time, but also a clear emotional lawn around the text in which associations and anxieties could emerge and be disentangled. He will perhaps only ever do one thing well in his life. For this particular combination of tiredness and nervous energy, the sole workable solution is wine. Office civilisation could not be feasible without the hard take-offs and landings effected by coffee and alcohol.

The coffee's done? I LOVE IT WHEN THE COFFEE'S DONE!

Texting and phone calls, fireworks, blends, café au lait, and music. Yesterday's television. Work and beer. The neighbor's dog, or those strange flowers, the way it smells at Maisen. Those ordinary things I talk about with you. With you... I want to talk about love with you.

The coffee was never served. It boiled over, spattered them all, and wet a costly tablecloth and the baroness's dress. But it served the end that was desired for it gave rise to many jests and merry peals of laughter.

The highway behind gives me courage to move into the future. I desire to see the first light of tomorrow.

The coffee is not strong enough to keep me awake.

The coffee was terrible and the bacon was ordinary, but the pancakes were avatars of some perfect Ur-cake whose existence until now could only be deduced from the statistical variations in other, lesser pancakes.

The Lord must have created coffee to reward humans for those bad times they sometimes have on Earth. Having charged your heart and brain with a cup of coffee, you’re ready to face the challenges of life. A good cup of coffee makes life seem better.

The Lord must have created coffee to reward humans for those bad times they sometimes have on Earth.

The coffee will help with post-resurrection synapse realignment. Trust me.

The kiss is different than I expected. It’s slow and tender, his lips soft and warm against mine. He tastes sweet, like the powdered sugar I spilt and the coffee with chicory he’s always drinking. It’s a perfect first kiss.

The next thing I remembered was Reyes smiling down at me as the sun filtered into his apartment, his hair mussed, his lids hooded with the thick remnants of sleep. I stretched as those three little words that every girl longs to hear slipped from his mouth with effortless ease. As though they did every day. As though they didn't mean the world to me. With one corner of his mouth tipping sensually, he asked, "Want some coffee?" And I fell. I fell hard.

Then everyone would retreat for a nap, after which we would have coffee and cake, sometimes an argument.

The only time a Girl asked me for a coffee was when she mistook me for a waiter.

The only time I drink milk is when I drink coffee. I make love the same way—contributing 2% as I just sort of lay there.

The perfectly measured burr of a dispassionate detective had suddenly changed into the explosive boom of a take-no-shit street cop. Suffice it to say, I froze.

The problem is NOT the PROBLEM...The problem is I haven’t had enough COFFEE to deal with the PROBLEM.

The pull of lingering dreams, the strong, bitter taste of morning coffee, the ticking clock, and horn of awaiting bus form a powerful combination to kick-start the day

The ode to coffee: no coffee means no yippee, no jubilee, and no wannabe for this zombie.

The philosopher Sir James Mackintosh had said that the powers of a man's mind were proportionate to the quantity of coffee he drank, and Voltaire had knocked back fifty cups of it a day, so Ianto reckoned there had to be something in it. And saving Cardiff from the kinds of things that came through the Rift called for quick, inspired thinking, so Ianto took it upon himself to make sure the coffee was good. Ianto Jones, saving the world with a dark roast.

There are a few rules in investigations, and one is to never cringe at the person’s appearance that you’re about to pump for info.

There has never been a 'war on drugs'! In our history we can only see an ongoing conflict amongst various drug users – and producers. In ancient Mexico the use of alcohol was punishable by death, while the ritualistic use of mescaline was highly worshipped. In 17th century Russia, tobacco smokers were threatened with mutilation or decapitation, alcohol was legal. In Prussia, coffee drinking was prohibited to the lower classes, the use of tobacco and alcohol was legal.

There are two gradations of cold that are always acceptable: Mild Frost, which is preferable for reading and writing and any other activity done indoors, and Absolute Zero, which is the only temperature suitable for sleep. There is nothing more delicious than being swathed in a cocoon of blankets and awaking with a nose frosted over with rime, and once I do achieve vampiric heights and fall asleep with the mastery of a corpse lately dead, I am best left alone until I wake up at my usual time. I do tend to bite when rattled out of my flocculent coffin, and everyone in my building knows never to disturb me during the early morning hours. Authors, being crepuscular creatures, should never be roused before 11am: the creative mind is never turned off; it only dies momentarily and its revived by the scent of coffee at the proper time. Bacon is also an acceptable restorative.

The relationship between a perfect cup of coffee and a writer is just like the couple who always standby and feel proud of being committed to each other.