Best 491 quotes in «tea quotes» category

If there’s any thing more important than tea, we must put together an expedition and hunt it down posthaste.

I grinned. "I'm anybody's for a cuppa and a biscuit.

I like pouring your tea, lifting the heavy pot, and tipping it up, so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup. Or when you’re away, or at work, I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip, as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips. I like the questions – sugar? – milk? – and the answers I don’t know by heart, yet, for I see your soul in your eyes, and I forget. Jasmine, Gunpowder, Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon, I love tea’s names. Which tea would you like? I say but it’s any tea for you, please, any time of day, as the women harvest the slopes for the sweetest leaves, on Mount Wu-Yi, and I am your lover, smitten, straining your tea. - Tea

I hope you don’t mind tea in mugs,’ she said, coming in with a tray. ‘I told you I was a slut.

I like tea so much that I’m considering changing my name to Bergamot so that I can exist in a perpetual state of Earl Grey contentment.

I looked at Judith. "This sounds strange, but I don't suppose you saw three mad women with a cauldron of boiling tea pass by this way?" "No," she replied. The polite voice of reasonable people scared of exciting the madman. "Flash of light? Puff of smoke? Erm..." I tried to find a polite way of describing the symptoms of spontaneous teleportation without using the dreaded "teleportation" word. I failed. I slumped back into the sand. What kind of mystic kept a spatial vortex at the bottom of their cauldrons of tea anyway?

I love America for its bourgeois comfort. If I was as heavily in debt as they are, I wouldn't be drinking tea or coffee anywhere. I would be sipping tap water from an old bottle and serving others tea or coffee in a cafe somewhere.

In 2010, the BBC spent nearly £230,000 on tea, but only £2000 on biscuits.

"At Christmas, tea is compulsory. Relatives are optional.

I must drink lots of tea or I cannot work. Tea unleashes the potential which slumbers in the depth of my soul.

In a few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was the china, very old the plate, very thin the bread-and-butter, and very small the lumps of sugar. Sugar was evidently Mrs. Jamieson's favourite economy.

In general, I call her every night, and we talk for an hour, which is forty-five minutes of me, and fifteen minutes of her stirring her tea, which she steeps with the kind of Zen patience that would make Buddhists sit up in envy and then breathe through their envy and then move past their envy.

Independence Day, July 4th, or as I know it: The end of tea parties!

In Ireland, you go to someone's house, and she asks you if you want a cup of tea. You say no, thank you, you're really just fine. She asks if you're sure. You say of course you're sure, really, you don't need a thing. Except they pronounce it ting. You don't need a ting. Well, she says then, I was going to get myself some anyway, so it would be no trouble. Ah, you say, well, if you were going to get yourself some, I wouldn't mind a spot of tea, at that, so long as it's no trouble and I can give you a hand in the kitchen. Then you go through the whole thing all over again until you both end up in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting. In America, someone asks you if you want a cup of tea, you say no, and then you don't get any damned tea. I liked the Irish way better.

I smile more when people think 'I am fool

I read the tea leaves as if they were words left over from a conversation between two cups.

Not tea but blood!

In the kitchen, she made passionflower tea, turning the jar of loose leaves in her hand while a teaspoon's worth steeped in her mug. The tea was local, made from an herb that rarely grew in New England but did on Quinnipeague. A natural sedative, passionflower was another of Cecily Cole's gems. The tea was still steeping when she decided she was hungry. On impulse, she took a jar of strawberry jam from the cupboard. It, too, was local, put up the fall before by one of the island women. Unscrewing the lid, she pried a layer of wax from the top and, taking a spoon, sampled it straight from the jar. She closed her eyes, isolating the sense of taste for the greatest enjoyment. Strawberries... and vanilla? Eyes popping open, she peered into the glass until she spotted the bean among the berries. A single bean. No surprise there. Vanilla beans came from a variety of orchid that had no business growing up on Quinnipeague, but did. Not only was the flower a more vivid yellow than elsewhere, but the bean was potent.

Între petalele unei flori, în acea tăcere parfumată frumoasă în inconștiența ei, putem descoperi inocența sufletului nostru.

Is this an 'I'm sorry I tried to assassinate you' tea ceremony?

It's a long story." Zach cupped his hands around his mug. He raised it to his lips, wincing as the liquid burned his tongue. His smile reached his eyes. "That's my favorite kind," he said.

It’s all right,’ he insisted, ‘I’m perfectly well. Thought I heard, well, a noise that startled me. But it was nothing. Just overcome with the tea fumes, I expect

I think just a cup of tea...' There was something to be said for tea and a comfortable chat about crematoria.

It is not a cold day, but she looks warmed by the tea. Tea has that effect on people. I love watching it bring comfort.

it is to be savored like a seabreeze-whispered dream...in the mysterious blue minutes before dawn like a secret infatuation.... like slow languorous sips of green tea... like a lingering glimpse a self-wrapped paradise like his name upon my lips.

It's a lot like the Wild West out here... just with tea shops instead of saloons. Wild West Sahara, that is.

I was learning, even in my brief time in England, that a cup of tea almost always helped. I didn't know whether it was the caffeine, the warmth, or the simple fact of having someone else do something kind, but a soothing cup of tea in Harriet Dalrymple's cottage was fast becoming my lifeline to sanity.

I was cursing and swearing at you because of that address, I hated you already because of the lies I had told you. Because I only like playing with words, only dreaming, but, do you know, what I really want is that you should all go to hell. That is what I want. I want peace; yes, I'd sell the whole world for a farthing, straight off, so long as I was left in peace. Is the world to go to pot, or am I to go without my tea? I say that the world may go to pot for me so long as I always get my tea.

I was pleased to see that even back in the glory days of the Folly people left their mugs of tea on their magical textbooks.

It's unbelievable really, the reviving power of a hot bath, a cup of tea and a roaring fire.

It was very hard to rant while accepting a cup of tea.

I will have some tea fetched. That is your society does drink tea? Always, Irene said.

I will gladly accept any and all books, however. A person can never have too much reading material. Especially on a fall or winter evening. If you’re feeling extra generous, you may include tea. I love a unique blend.

I wonder if I should have Darjeeling tea?" West mused aloud. "No, perhaps something stronger... Ceylon or pekoe... and some of the little buns with the cream and jam... What were those, Kathleen?" "Cornish splits." "Ah. No wonder I like them. It sounds like something I once saw performed at a dance hall.

Nim handed me a mug of tea. I took a sip and it was just how I like it, strong and sweet. If you added psychotic and emotionally unavailable to that, it would also cover my taste in women.

Looking out at the lake, drinking good tea. That's his only luxury. And what an enormous luxury that was.

(Malory, unhopeful: "I don't suppose you have any tea?" Jesse: "DO YOU WANT EARL GREY OR DARJEELING?" Malory: "Oh, sweet heavens!")

Melissa was still deep in conversation with Toby. For no good reason, they were arguing about the very important art of making the perfect cup of tea.

My flat's about half a mile away, and you know what I'd like most of all in the world? I'd like a cup of tea. Come on, let's go and put the kettle on.

Listen, if you want peace you must learn to drink cha from an empty cup.

Making tea is a ritual that stops the world from falling in on you.

Miss Selina, you have over the past minutes—as in the past months, and indeed, in all the years of your association with him—demonstrated an understanding of Master Bruce, his aspirations, his desires and his demons, that would be the envy of his closest colleagues, who believe they know him better than anybody. It is quite impossible to credit your fear that you ‘will not be good at this,’ for there is clearly no one in his life better suited to comfort him in tragedy, rejoice with him in triumph, and keep him from being alone in the days and nights in between. If he should ‘give up hope,’ I have no doubt you would manage the situation with the same sublime felinity you have used to such advantage in the past. Now drink your tea, young woman, and the next time you enjoy, or even sniff, this particular brew, I dare say you will understand how it helps.

Mordecai snorted. “Surely, I thought you’d invite the chaos on board and offer it tea.

Mulan stared at the steaming liquid, watching the dried leaves swirl to the bottom. How beautiful the tea looked, too- she'd never seen tea so colorful. Reds and pinks swirled in with amber and blue- like the mesmerizing patterns on a butterfly.

My second meeting with Vincent Starrett began on a cool Sunday afternoon in May of 1962. After a short interlude, he returned from the kitchen precariously balancing a large cup of tea on a very small saucer. It was the largest tea cup I had ever seen, large enough to startle, I am inclined to suspect, even the Mad Hatter in 'Alice in Wonderland.

No milk," I said. "No milk," said my sister. I watched my dad think about this. He looked like he was going to suggest that we have something for breakfast that you do not need milk for, like sausages, but then he looked like he remembered that, without milk, he couldn't have his tea. He had his "no tea" face. "You poor children," he said. "I will walk down to the shop on the corner. I will get milk.

No one thinks to make the goddess a cup of tea; they just ply her with useless perfumed oils and impotent carved fetishes.

No one needs Independence. We all just need tea and air conditioners.

No, she did not want to go to hospital. Yes, she would like a cup of tea. Only then did she begin to think rationally again.

nothing helped tea. It simply was what it was, which was boiling hot and flavorless.