Best 39 quotes in «meal quotes» category

After six long hours of driving and three rest stops, Tiger pulls up to a snow-topped, metal speaker box just outside the State Penitentiary's first gate in Walla Walla. As he rolls down his window and snow flies in his face, Joshua starts begging for a Happy Meal. I turn around, snapping at him. "This ISN'T MCDONALDS and YOU AREN'T HUNGRY. NOW SHUT UP BRAT." A loud scratchy masculine voice blasts out of the speaker. "CAN I HELP YOU?" Tiger leans out the window, as he answers- We're here to visit Raven Chandler. "HAVE YOU BEEN HERE BEFORE?" "Yes sir. I've been here A LOT." "WHERE'S HIS MOTHER?" "I don't know.. I haven't seen her in months." "NOT THE PRISONER'S MOTHER. THE BRAT IN THE BACK SEAT OF YOUR JEEP." "Oh- HIM-" As he turns, smiling and sticking his tongue out at Joshua, I lean towards his window to answer the guard's question. "SHE'S IN VEGAS, SIR. I'M BABYSITTING. HE'S MY GODSON." When the speaker remains disturbingly silent for far too long, I continue. "HE'S A GOOD BOY SIR. HE WON'T BE ANY TROUBLE- I SWEAR." "THAT'S RIGHT," Tiger said. "HE SWEARS ON THE LITTLE BRAT'S MOTHER'S GRAVE.

A leader’s meal is that unstoppable desire to stay late to see his dreams achieved. They never give up.

A truly compassionate man gives a poor woman a portion of his meal before he eats, not after he has eaten.

A man asked for an early meal. His wife said: “It is for supper.

Any work done with love - be it a photo or a meal or a painting - always looks so pretty, because love is a master of creating magical beauties!

Close your eyes, Sophia. Look at the table in your mind. What does it look like? What's on the menu? Taste it. Tell me." She closed her eyes. Enveloped by all that was Elliott. She tried to concentrate and ignore those rough fingers on her cheek. "Shrimp wrapped in Thai basil and prosciutto, crisped on the grill, drizzled with olive oil and fresh lime juice. It's Emilia's favorite." "Mmm. Keep going. Don't stop." His lips were almost touching her forehead. His breath on her skin. "Grilled filet mignon with my peppercorn sauce. White, red, pink peppercorns. The girls get them for me when they travel. That's our special dinner. Our decadent meal." "More." His lips grazed her ear. Sophia's eyes were tightly shut, but she had to suppress a shudder. "Vegetable salad on baby greens from my garden. Yellow peppers, green zucchini, purple eggplant, lightly grilled. With a sherry vinaigrette and fresh herbs. All the colors of the rainbow." "Lovely. Keep going." She could no longer hear the buzz of crickets or throaty calls of the frogs. Just Elliott's breathing. Steady. Intense. "Wine, lots of wine," she said huskily. She felt his chuckle against her cheek. "Well, this is my fantasy, right? It must have wine." "Of course it does. Keep going." "Home-made gelato. Lemon. With lemon zest and lemon basil and lemon verbena. And crunchy toasted macadamia nuts on top.

But cooking is best approached from wherever you find yourself when you are hungry, and should extend long past the end of the page. There should be serving, and also eating, and storing away what's left; there should be looking at meals' remainders with interest and imagining all the good things they will become.

He tried to measure his day by tallying the hours on his wrist. I wiped it off and called him a prisoner. He placed the hours on a scale with hours from former days to compare. I took a hammer and broke it all. He bent down and picked up the shards of minutes first then swept the seconds. I told him he’d missed a spot; there were some sparkling specks left. 'What are they?' he asked. 'Those are moments,' I said. 'What are they made of?' he asked. They are times, I thought, when you win a race or win a heart. They are times when you give birth or lay something, someone to rest. When you wake up in the morning with a smile because anything is possible. When someone compliments the thing you hate most about yourself. Times when you are embarrassed. Times when you are hurtful. Times when you relish in a hearty meal. Times when you service others and are content with a well-spent day. 'What are they made of?' he asked again. 'They are made up of times when we are fully present.' I picked up one of the specks with the tip of my finger. 'Do you remember this?' I asked. 'Of course,' he said, 'I was whistling in the kitchen that morning.' 'Why?' I asked. 'Because of the knowledge that I was loved.

Give thinking the opportunity to be your everyday meal; you get nourished by the best success nutrients. You will never be deficient!

Heart pounding, she started to prepare the meal that hit her so hard. Her famous cherry tomatoes stuffed with chile, cheese, and bacon, along with pulled pork, endive slaw, and potato pancakes with homemade catsup.

Home cooking is always concerned with quality, because people you care about will eat the meal.

If you are not hungry for success, you will not make the best use of your time. It is simple and clear. People who are truly hungry for food never play with a meal when they see it.

Hunger gives flavour to the food.

If you are visiting someone and his wife feeds you a wonderful meal, you should be grateful but you should not wish that it would be nice if she could go home with you. Having such intents towards food and eating leads one to become increasingly possessed with turmoil (worldly suffering). This is why the Lord has said for us to enjoy but not become the enjoyer, to do something which we like but do not become habituated about it.

I have come to the conclusion that just as the Japanese live to work, Asians live to eat.

[...]imagine for a moment if we once again knew, strictly as a matter of course, these few unremarkable things: What it is we're eating. Where it came from. How it found its way to our table. And what, in a true accounting, it really cost. We could then talk about some other things at dinner. For we would no longer need any reminding that however we choose to feed ourselves, we eat by the grace of nature, not industry, and what we're eating is never anything more or less than the body of the world.

Magicians scorned talking to animals; animal thoughts weren't nearly orderly enough to suit magicians, and were always full of large untidy preoccupations, like sex and death and the next meal.

It is childish to eat primarily or only to please your tongue.

Someone needs your actions to inspire his actions. Never forget, your little broken cake is someone’s daily meal! Care to share you little cake!

Never give up in life, give your whole hearted try to every challenge coming your way even though the challenge seems impossible and much beyond your reach and potential.

Nobody will buy a half-cooked food!

Some people ate less food less often when they each had a home than they now do as hobos.

Some people when they see cheese, chocolate or cake they don't think of calories.

Many a death was precipitated by the food, the job, or the medication whose main function was to postpone it.

Nearly everyone wants as least one outstanding meal a day.

Never fear to lose your three square meal per day if that will cause you to be a fan of the truth. Never fear to have a decrease in the number of your friends if you should maintain the truth…

Suddenly and without warning, one of the men stepped around and, with the beast's nether regions regrettably all too apparent, plunged his bare hand up to the elbow in the pig's rectum, then removed it, holding a fistful of steaming pig shit - which he flung, unceremoniously, to the ground with a loud splat before repeating the process.

The whole concept of 'the perfect meal' is ludicrous. I knew already that the best meal in the world, the perfect meal, is very rarely the most sophisticated or expensive one....Context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one's life.

The golden rules of eating from the unlimited food buffet: 1. Eat the hot food, as it is the least likely to food poison you. 2. Avoid the cold food, as it may have bacterial contamination. 3. Wash your hands after eating, as they may have bacterial contamination from the handles of the food ladles.

The meal was delectable, with courses of consomme and leeks, cold poached salmon with bergamot mousseline sauce and cucumbers, curried game meats, mutton joint with savory stuffering, roasted duckling and pheasant and squab with herbed root vegetables, and so on. Tabitha, whose finest meals had consisted largely of tinned meats and powered custard, nearly wept at the smells and textures and tastes flooding her senses.

There’s something special about gathering a few favorite people for a meal. A beautifully set table is the perfect canvas for a delicious meal.

The best meals are those prepared by loving hands.

Too often we only identify the crucial points in our lives in retrospect. At the time we are too absorbed in the fetid detail of the moment to spot where it is leading us. But not this time. I was experiencing one of my dad’s deafening moments. If my life could be understood as a meal of many courses (and let’s be honest, much of it actually was), then I had finished the starters and I was limbering up for the main event. So far, of course, I had made a stinking mess of it. I had spilled the wine. I had dropped my cutlery on the floor and sprayed the fine white linen with sauce. I had even spat out some of my food because I didn’t like the taste of it. “But it doesn’t matter because, look, here come the waiters. They are scraping away the debris with their little horn and steel blades, pulled with studied grace from the hidden pockets of their white aprons. They are laying new tablecloths, arranging new cutlery, placing before me great domed wine glasses, newly polished to a sparkle. There are more dishes to come, more flavors to try, and this time I will not spill or spit or drop or splash. I will not push the plate away from me, the food only half eaten. I am ready for everything they are preparing to serve me. Be in no doubt; it will all be fine.” (pp.115-6)

Unreturned love is like a meal with only one participant.

What’s up, Albert?” “Well, I’ve done inventory at Ralph’s, and I think if I had a lot of help, I could put together an okay Thanksgiving dinner.” Sam stared at him. He blinked. “What?” “Thanksgiving. It’s next week.” “Uh-huh.” “There are ovens at Ralph’s, big ones. And no one has taken the frozen turkeys. Figure two hundred and fifty kids if pretty much everyone from Perdido Beach shows up, right? One turkey will feed maybe eight people, so we need thirty-one, thirty-two turkeys. No problem there, because there are forty-six turkeys at Ralph’s.” “Thirty-one turkeys?” “Cranberry sauce will be no problem, stuffing is no problem, no one has taken much stuffing yet, although I’ll have to figure out how to mix, like, seven different brands and styles together, see how it tastes.” “Stuffing,” Sam echoed solemnly. “We don’t have enough canned yams, we’ll have to do fresh along with some baked potatoes. The big problem is going to be whipped cream and ice cream for the pies.” Sam wanted to burst out laughing, but at the same time he found it touching and reassuring that Albert had put so much thought into the question. “I imagine the ice cream is pretty much gone,” Sam said. “Yeah. We’re very low on ice cream. And kids have been taking the canned whipped cream, too.” “But we can have pie?” “We have some frozen. And we have some pie shells we can bake up ourselves.” “That would be nice,” Sam said. “I’ll need to start three days before. I’ll need, like, at least ten people to help. I can haul the tables out of the church basement and set up in the plaza. I think I can do it.” “I’ll bet you can, Albert,” Sam said with feeling. “Mother Mary’s going to have the prees make centerpieces.” “Listen, Albert…” Albert raised a hand, cutting Sam off. “I know. I mean, I know we may have some great big fight before that. And I heard you have your fifteenth coming up. All kinds of bad stuff may happen. But, Sam—” This time, Sam cut him off. “Albert? Get moving on planning the big meal.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. It will give people something to look forward to.

When it was cooler, Trazada made a simple meal of sausage, cheese, and bread. She had schooled herself to wait dinner until hunger urged her to eat; it gave seasoning to poor food that no spice could furnish. ("The Generalissimo's Butterfly")

When i was a child, i liked tasting any candy i happened to see, but as i grew older, i realized those are a great meal to the worms in my innards. Will you shun old habits or nay? That's the question.

You don’t command your plate to provide you with food and it does. And you don’t have to get bored if it doesn't. Whatever has to drop into the plate must pass through your head!

You don't need a prophet to wake you up from your bed; you need no archbishop to describe the size of your spoon for you. Remember, you are in the center of management of your own affairs when the time comes for you to act!