Holly Golightly: What do you do, anyway? Paul Varjak: I'm a writer, I guess. Holly Golightly: You guess? Don't you know? Paul Varjak: OK, positive statement. Ringing affirmative. I'm a writer.
Holly Golightly: But just look at the goodies she brought with her. Paul Varjak: He's all right, I suppose, if you like dark, handsome, rich-looking men with passionate natures and too many teeth.
Paul Varjak: [Holly, while having a nightmare, begins crying] Why are you crying? Holly Golightly: [wakes up] If we're going to be friends let's get one thing straight right now. I hate snoops!
Holly Golightly: Thursday! It can't be! It's too gruesome! Paul Varjak: What's so gruesome about Thursday? Holly Golightly: Nothing, except I can never remember when it's coming up.
Holly Golightly: 's alright. It's only me. Paul Varjak: Uh... Now wait a minute, Miss... uh... Holly Golightly: Golightly. Holly Golightly. I live downstairs. We met this morning, remember? Paul Varjak: Yeah.
I usually get up not before 9. I have a huge library - I'm a big fan of Scandinavian crime fiction - so I'll usually take a book and go off to one of my favorite bistros for a cappuccino or espresso or maybe I'll have some lovely smoked salmon for br...
The platinum Omega watch he gave me at breakfast on our first morning in London obscures the red line. The inscription still makes me swoon. Anastasia You are My More My Love, My Life Christian
It's a harmless breakfast." "Nothing harmless about what he whips up. His parents are chefs, so he's picked up a few tips and anything he makes is beyond yummy." "Uhm, you're not doing a good job talking me out of it,
You ask a certain question again and again, in a sincere fashion, and the answer appears. But, in my experience, at least, that answer arrives according to it's own mysterious celestial timing, and often in disguise. And it comes in a way you're not ...
You catch all that, Humphrey?” I asked. “Get to eat demons for breakfast,” he said with a grin. “Hey, only if they misbehave,” I said. “Demons always do,” he said, licking his lips. I had a sinking feeling that the gargoyle had a point.
The proper ending for any story about people it seems to me, since life is now a polymer in which the Earth is wrapped so tightly, should be the same abbreviation, which I now write large because I feel like it, which is this one: ETC.
Today’s breakfast consist of rice and a piece of bread fried in a bit of salt pork grease. At least I have my memories of grand banquets and fine foods, but this is all the children have ever known. I suppose it is best not to have anything to comp...
The answer is good things only happen to you if you're good. Good? Honest is more what I mean... Be anything but a coward, a pretender, an emotional crook, a whore: I'd rather have cancer than a dishonest heart.
God requires solitude and quiet – this is part of the way He instructs us to pray to Him. We are obligated through our Love to worship Him as He sees fit. This is not the law. This is the language of Love: we love Him in the way He chooses for us t...
Age does take it out of you, and I haven't the energy I had before. Sometimes I have breakfast and sit in this chair, and I wake up and it is lunchtime. In the past, the idea of sleeping through a morning would have horrified me, but you have to acce...
A good mother remembers to serve fruit at breakfast, is always cheerful and never yells, manages not to project her own neuroses and inadequacies onto her children, is an active and beloved community volunteer. She remembers to make play dates, her c...
I know. I'm sorry." And the bizarre part is that I really am. I want to be good, to use the right fork and wear a pretty linen dress to breakfast. I want to be the girl in the pictures upstairs. But I can't be. That girl is dead.
Kyle held out his hand and Reid shook it like a good sport, but he made sure to add a little extra pressure and a meaningful stare in the universal male Don’t-f**k-with-this-chick-or-I’ll-eat-your-heart-for-breakfast-with-my-Wheaties look.
Life... is like a grapefruit. Well, it's sort of orangey-yellow and dimpled on the outside, wet and squidgy in the middle. It's got pips inside, too. Oh, and some people have half a one for breakfast.
Breakfast was an irritable business. The clock, on the wall, MapHead noticed, seemed to make everyone unhappy. Everyone checked the clock on the wall, then rushed around looking grim. It would be a simple matter to fix it, MapHead thought. No reason ...
Broccoli, it’s what’s for breakfast. This morning let us make love like we’re both still asleep. I’ll hit the snooze if you find the lube.
