My favorite toast is rye toast.
Even if I'm gone all day, breakfast is the one meal I always cook for my kids. I make French toast, oatmeal, or an egg burrito.
The noise from good toast should reverberate in the head like the thunder of July.
Our brains are not capable of comprehending the infinite so, instead, we ignore it and eat cheese on toast.
Raw toast," Lucas said grimly, shaking his head. "It goes against the very nature of man.
Toast is me. I am toast.
Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives... and to the "good life", whatever it is and wherever it happens to be.
And now, my friends, a dragon's toast! Here's to life's little blessings: war, plagues, and all forms of evil. Their presence keeps us alert--- and their absence keeps us grateful.
But he is an Italian," was Umberto's sensible reply. "He doesn't care if you break some law a little bit, as long as you wear beautiful shoes. Are you wearing beautiful shoes? Are you wearing the shoes I gave you?...principessa?" I looked down at my flip-flops. "I guess I'm toast.
The cup of tea on arrival at a country house is a thing which, as a rule, I particularly enjoy. I like the crackling logs, the shaded lights, the scent of buttered toast, the general atmosphere of leisured cosiness.
It is the first day because it has never been before and the last day because it will never be again. Be alive, if you can, all through this day - today - of your life. What's to be done? What's to be done? Follow your feet. Put on the coffee. Start the orange juice, the bacon, the toast. Then go wake up your children and your spouse. Think about the work of your hands. Live in the needs of the day.
I am not at all a chocoholic. I would rather eat anchovy toast.
You know you poor when you eatin' breakfast food late. You fryin' toast? At nine o'clock at night? With bacon? You're broke.
Sometimes we forget to be grateful until we survive a trauma. For example, after having the flu when you ache all over, throw up for hours, and have little people pounding in your head with hammers, it is sheer bliss just to eat a piece of toast, walk outside without getting dizzy, and breathe fresh air. Part of the journey toward joy involves not waiting around for trouble, but being continuously aware of our blessings.
Come in, my dearFrom that harsh worldThat has rained elements of stoneUpon your tender face.Every soulShould receive a toast from usFor bravery!
He got me a cup of tea with honey, toast with honey, yogurt with honey, like I was John the Baptist with the flu.
I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I want.
You can microwave a Pop Tart. That just blew me away that you could do that. How long does it take to toast a Pop Tart? A minute and a half if you want it dark? People don't have that kind of time? Listen, if you need to zap-fry your Pop Tarts before you head out the door, you might want to loosen up your schedule.
Eating plain toast will detonate her. "I'll have some honey." When the bread is done I scrape on a microscopic layer of it and pour a cup of coffee, black. She pretends not to listen or watch as I crunch through my breakfast. I pretend that I don't notice her pretending.
This toast feels raw. Is it safe to eat raw toast?
Tea would arrive, the cakes squatting on cushions of cream, toast in a melting shawl of butter, cups agleam and a faint wisp of steam rising from the teapot shawl.
My culinary skills are terrible. I can't even make toast taste good. I do make scrambled eggs for myself sometimes but I wouldn't even inflict that on anyone else.
I did toy with the idea of doing a cook-book . . . The recipes were to be the routine ones: how to make dry toast, instant coffee, hearts of lettuce and brownies. But as an added attraction, at no extra charge, my idea was to put a fried egg on the cover. I think a lot of people who hate literature but love fried eggs would buy it if the price was right.
Beige is atmosphere. It's bisque, it's ivory, it's cream, it's stone, it's toast, it's cappuccino. It;s well, it's magic.
I love my lifestyle now, but at the end of nine months, you're toast. You are toast. It's like running a marathon. You can't think while you're doing it. Especially when different directors come in who are not part of the posse, the circle
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