Art arises from loss. I wish this weren't the case. I wish that every time I met a new woman and she rocked my world, I was inspired to write my ass off. But that is not what happens. What happens is we lie around in bed eating chocolate and screwing...
Thank you,” Simon said. “It’s a joke, Isabelle. He’s the Count. He likes counting. You know. ‘What did the Count eat today, children? One chocolate chip cookie, two chocolate chip cookies, three chocolate chip cookies . . .’” There was ...
Capt. T.G. Culpeper: You know what I believe I'd like? A chocolate fudge sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on top. [Everybody stares] Capt. T.G. Culpeper: Nothing will happen here for five minutes. Secretary Schwartz: Mrs. Culpeper on the phone....
Writing's a lot like cooking. Sometimes the cake won't rise, no matter what you do, and every now and again the cake tastes better than you ever could have dreamed it would.
His eyes are blue, and blue eyes up close are a celestial phenomenon: nebulae as seen through telescopes, the light of unnamed stars diffused through dusts and elements and endlessness. Layers of light. Blue eyes are starlight.
It’s like losing gravity and falling into space – the moment of pitching headlong when the endlessness of space asserts itself and there is no more down, only an eternity of up, and you realize you can fall forever and never run out of stars.
This made my father laugh. 'Mary made a cake, did she? Well, well. Better that than she should make a cake for herself, I suppose.' Peter then burst out: 'Why must you always be making a game of Mary? 'Tis not fair; 'tis not sporting.
Well, then, Otter, of course I don’t like Bundt cake. It has eggs in it. Baby chicken eggs. You don’t see chickens standing outside of maternity wards waiting to get our babies to make their Bundt cake, do you?
I replayed the moment I first saw him at the picnic throughout our years together. As corny as it may sound, from the first glance we shared near the cake stand at the picnic, the two of us remained connected like the icing on one of those made from ...
She often felt like she had been cast in a supporting role with the film that was Louise. And there was more melodrama to be found there than a full-scale Merchant-Ivory period production. Tonight, she was certain, would be no exception.
But as I listened to my various mentors argue away the afternoon, I finally caught on to the basic point of it all. With chocolate, there are no straight answers. There are only strongly held opinions.
Chocolateism: Maintain your integrity even in the atmosphere of compromise, for it only takes one step in compromise, to start losing character.
She knew that people often complained about having a 'bad hair day', but surely they did not wake up in the morning to find their Hair had eaten a whole box of chocolates while they were sleeping!
He will one day meet his true love... A fellow traveler on the road... Her eyes will be his ocean... In her ocean he will sail forever....
I remember I went through a period where I didn't embrace my 'chocolatiness.' I don't know if that's a word, but I didn't embrace my chocolate lifestyle. Just being a chocolate, lovely brown skin girl and being proud of that.
I love to bake! I have a huge sweet tooth, and I love to make things like zucchini muffins, you know, anything decadent like that. And I stand by the claim that chocolate can be good for you! I love having a good piece of dark chocolate, one that's 7...
Charlie Bucket: Mr. Wonka, they won't really be burned in the furnace, will they? Willy Wonka: Hm... well, I think that furnace is only lit every other day, so they have a good sporting chance, haven't they?
[last lines] Willy Wonka: But Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted. Charlie Bucket: What happened? Willy Wonka: He lived happily ever after. [hugs Charlie]
Charlie Bucket: [as the Wonkatania is going through the tunnel, to Grandpa Joe] This is kind of strange. Grandpa Joe: [excitedly] Yes, it's strange, Charlie, but it's fun! Ha-ha! [they grin at each other]
Veruca Salt: [singing] I want a party with roomfuls of laughter, / Ten thousand tons of ice cream, / And if I don't get the things I am after, / I'm going to screeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEAM.
Mike Teevee: Wait till I get a real one. Colt 45. Pop won't let me have one yet, will ya, Pop? Mr. Teevee: Not till you're 12, son.
