Best 230 quotes in «honey quotes» category

Welcome to my garage. This is where I go to get away from the Honey-Do list.

We may stop lovin' to watch Bugs Bunny, but he can't take the place of my honey.

We ought not to extract pernicious honey from poison blossoms of misrepresentation and mendacious half-truth, to pamper the course appetite of bigotry and self-love.

We’re all works in progress, honey. And believe me when I tell you that I’ve had to work harder than most.

When I come residence from an evening out with my honey and my make-up's just a little smudged. I have many moments when I really feel lovely. It's all about having that inside confidence.

What would people look like if we could see them as they are, soaked in honey, stung and swollen, reckless, pinned against time?

What men say: I'm sorry, honey. I was wrong. What men think: I'd love a Chipwich. I should go get one.

When I lose my temper, honey, you can't find it any place.

When we bless God for mercies, we usually prolong them. When we bless God for miseries, we usually end them. Praise is the honey of life which a devout heart extracts from every bloom of providence and grace.

When I was younger, I used to put honey and Coca-Cola and all that stuff on my body and just fry in the sun. But I think we all know how bad that is for you.

When the honey's out of the comb, there's no putting it back.

When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?

When the conduct of men is designed to be influenced, persuasion, kind, unassuming persuasion, should ever be adopted. It is an old and a true maxim, that 'a drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall.'

When you taste honey, remember gall.

Woke up, it was a Chelsea morning, and the first thing that I knew there was milk and toast and honey and a bowl of oranges, too.

You are made of bent coat hangers, honey, gravel, epoxy and handstands. I am made of lying on the floor, the same song on repeat.

You can't do Shakespeare with a Southern accent, honey.

You're more than just neither, honey. There's other ways to be than either-or. It's not so simple. Otherwise there wouldn't be so many people who don't fit.

You do not get more with honey than with vinegar!

You know, honey, husbands come and go but I'm still Cher at the end of the day.

You'll learn, honey. Love can be the best thing in life. And it can be the worst. The absolute worst.

Your lips, beloved, are like a honeycomb: honey and milk are under the tongue. And the smell of your clothes is like the smell of my home.

Why are terms of endearment always food? Honey, cookie, sugar, pumpkin. Its not like caring about someone is enough to actually sustain you.

You're just a natural beehive, filled with honey to the top. Well, I ain't greedy baby, all I want is all you got.

Although you can not hear my thoughts, Sam, I imagine I’m talking to you. Prayers to the brother who abandoned me. The day after you left Labrador, my honey started flowing. Is my body weeping for your loss?

Bacon would not be a choice if the pig had any say in the matter. A lamb, given the gift of speech, would most probably say "no" if you asked if you could eat her leg. Fish would no doubt choose to stay in the water, if they could and I feel pretty sure turkeys must object once their Christmas fête (or should that be fate?) is made clear to them. Chickens are surely protesting from having their eggs systematically stolen and freedoms restricted, and both cows and their calves would be up in arms, if they had any, with the theft of their milk and violent separation. Given the chance, bees will attack and defend ferociously, even sacrificing themselves in the process, in order to protect their precious honey; a sure sign they do not part with it voluntarily.

A WATERY BLISS As busy as an ice cream freezer, On a Sunday getting hotter, Happy is the honey eater- The busy ocean otter, Floating alongside Teter, On a sea full of water.

As he lifted the leather-bound cover, the musty smell of paper rose up. He turned the first mottled leaf and looked down at an elaborately drawn image. A brimming goblet was decorated with curling vines and bunches of grapes. But instead of wine or water, the cup was filled with words. John stared at the alien symbols. He could not read. Around the goblet a strange garden grew. Honeycombs dripped and flowers like crocuses sprouted among thick-trunked trees. Vines draped themselves about their branches which bristled with leaves and bent under heavy bunches of fruit. In the far background John spied a roof with a tall chimney. His mother settled beside him. 'Palm trees...' she said. 'These are dates. Honey came from the hives and saffron came from these flowers. Grapes swelled on the vine...

Camille's eyes fluttered and then closed. The cake was warm and her fork went down again. "Oh," she said quietly. There was a time I cared: a meat, a vegetable, a starch, some cake. Life had an order, but now the point only seemed to be eating. Here was my daughter, eating, devouring, she was almost through with the cake. "Did you make this with honey?" Camille asked. There was something in her voice I nearly recognized. It sounded like interest, kindness. "I did." "Because sometimes-" She couldn't finish her sentence without stopping for another bite. "You use brown sugar?" "It's another recipe." "I like the honey." "The problems they're having with bees these days," Sam began, but I held up my hand and it silenced him. There was too much pleasure in the moment to hear about the plight of the bees. My mother took a long, last sip of her drink and then went to the counter to get the cake, the knife, and three more plates. "First the two of you are having a drink on a Tuesday, now we're all eating cake before we finish our dinner." She cut four pieces and gave the first one to Camille, whose plate was empty. "It's madness. Anarchy. It must make you wonder what's coming next," Sam said. My mother handed me my plate. I don't eat that much cake, but I never turn down a slice. The four of us ate, pretending it was a salad course. Camille was right to pick up on the honey. It was the undertone, the melody of the cake. It was not cloying or overly sweet but it lingered on the tongue after the bite had been swallowed. I didn't miss the frosting at all, though it would have been cream cheese. I could beat cream cheese longer than most people would have thought possible. I could beat it until it could pass for meringue.

Diamond being the toughest thing on the face of earth is still the most prettiest object; pretty is not always being honeyed.

Drink up my honey eyes, Kiss them shut every night, And be my 'one' all my life.

Even the bees I'd swear were sent to protect us in the delicate business of hives and honey are stung to silence by the news that something winged has lost its flight.

Everything about her was sweet, pale like honey. You would not have been surprised to see a bee caught in the tangles of that yellow hair.

Her kisses reminded me of lemon slices drizzled with sticky honey. Bitter, sweet and strangely irresistible.

Grandfather, is it all right if we join you for a bit?" "Of course. Particularly since you've brought sustenance." He eyed the tray of food. It looked like a food magazine layout, featuring a variety of cheeses with fresh berries on brightly painted Italian pottery, and a tiny glass container of honey with the smallest spoon he'd ever seen. Isabel laced a thread of honey across the cheeses. "These are my favorite honey and cheese pairings. Comte, Appenzeller and ricotta. I had my first honey harvest last summer- a small one. That's when I realized I needed extra help with my beekeeping." "Sorry I wasn't your guy," said Mac.

His voice reminded me of the slow stretching descent of honey from a highly placed silver spoon.

Honey doesn’t lose its sweetness because it is made by bees that sting.

Honey is a bee's sweat.

Honey?” I asked. “Don’t you dare call me that,” Alex growled. Possibly he was kidding. I didn’t want to ask.

If life is a cup of tea, gratitude is the honey that makes it sweet.

If bees only gathered nectar from perfect flowers, they wouldn’t be able to make even a single drop of honey.

If your soul is sweet like honey, people will be drawn to you like bees.

I kiss her. I kiss her and kiss her. I try not to bite her lip. She tastes like vodkahoney.

In Spain, hilly terrain and antiquated planting and harvest practices keep farmers from retrieving more than about 100 pounds [of almonds] per acre. Growers in the Central Valley, by contrast can expect up to 3000 pounds an acre. But for all their sophisticated strategies to increase yield and profitability, almond growers still have one major problem - pollination. Unless a bird or insect brings the pollen from flower to flower, even the most state-of-the-art orchard won't grow enough nuts. An almond grower who depends on wind and a few volunteer pollinators in this desert of cultivation can expect only 40 pounds of almonds per acre. If he imports honey bees, the average yield is 2,400 pounds per acre, as much as 3,000 in more densely planted orchards. To build an almond, it takes a bee.

I am sad because I love you, because I love you so much, and because I am not a bee to buzz with you lightly. I am not a flower, not a tree, not a rain-hewn stone. I am not a storm or a cresting wave, not a thorn or a vine. I am not the sun stinging the water, not the moon on the snow. I am not a star in the dark. I am not the dew-wet wind, not the cloud-stained dawn. I am only a girl, a small, plain girl, a girl who must smear her lips in honey to be found sweet.

I like the organza tiebacks. They're pretty and ethereal." "Lovely. I think those are the ones." "Me, too. And hey, can we invent a signature cocktail for the wedding, using honey?" "I'm working on one made with honey syrup, apple juice and calvados. Garnished with an apple slice, of course.

I love you so, honey. I love you too, money.

In the small village I'm from we had a very old custom. On a child's first day of school, the rabbi would give him a slate on which the first two letters of the Hebrew alphabet were written in honey. The rabbi asked the child to lick up the letters and go on to use the slate to learn to read and write. The child would always remember that learning was sweet like honey.

It is the honey which makes us cruel enough to ignore the death of a bee

It's like Eldridge Kestenbaum always says - you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." "Horse manure catches more flies than honey and vinegar put together," retorted Mark.