My luck at the gambling table was varied; sometimes I was fifty to a hundred dollars ahead, and at other times I had to borrow money from my fellow workmen to settle my room rent and pay for my meals.
I do yoga every day, some sport, have a meal once a day, eat some fruit, and drink one glass of wine. And once a month I gather together my close friends. But my wife and I do not like conspicuous luxury.
In Zurich, in a cafe overlooking the Limmat, I ate butter-drenched white asparagus pulled from the ground that morning; it had the aftertaste of champagne. I've been able to appreciate epic meals in San Francisco, New Orleans, Berlin, Paris, Las Vega...
We actors have it pretty easy and pretty hard. Easy 'cause we have a meal provided to us every 6 hours every day and craft services. The hard part is staying fit under those circumstances.
My father always cooks more polenta than he needs for a meal. The excess he spreads on an oiled surface and chills. Next day, he cuts out chunks, fries them in olive oil and serves with salad.
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…
Capitalist cycle of profit. The rancher sells a cow for profit. The butcher sells cuts for profit. The restaurant sells meals for profit. And the patrons spend money for profit.
Let us not take what we eat for granted; let us view our meals as an opportunity to give our Lord praise.
Toward the end of February 1954, James Beard was at work in his Greenwich Village kitchen doing what he most loved to do: cooking delicious meals.
Preparing the communal evening meal sometimes caused arguments. Every village in Sicily had a different recipe for squid and eels, disagreed on what herbs should be disbarred from the tomato sauce. And whether sausages should ever be baked.
But there was a fire waiting. And there was a little meal laid out on a blanket. And there was a whole world beyond that shoreline, beyond the forest, beyond the knuckle mountains, beyond, beyond, beyond, not beneath the surface at all, but beyond an...
Punishing a person for the wrongs of another makes about as much sense as throwing up to enjoy the meal a second time.
When I took my poetry class in school. I read an e. e. cummings poem. I don’t mind eels except how they feels and maybe as meals. I knew there was hope for me.
It is very much in the interest of the food industry to exacerbate our anxieties about what to eat, the better to then assuage them with new products.
Suffering... is not just lots of pain but pain amplified by distinctly human emotions such as regret, self-pity, shame, humiliation, and dread.
Their tongues met, starving, two years without this delicious meal. They kissed and kissed and kissed. The joining of their mouths was more intense than that night on the ferry. This was a kiss of reunion. Of forgiveness. Of coming home.
In its essence, a meal is a creative act that has its genesis in the mind of someone who cares enough to plan it, gather ingredients and labor over its creation.
I would have enjoyed “Naked Lunch” that day, but the cafeteria served us all clothing. I like my meals a little more scandalous. I should eat in the library, along with the other gluttonous nudists.
After the first meal with a new girlfriend’s family, I always like to say, “Will you folks excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom and vomit now. Gotta keep the weight off somehow. Plus, your cooking is terrible.
From warm meals, to daily exercise, to healthcare; one can't help but wonder how our society would be different if tended to the elderly as we do to our imprisoned.
Reading at meals is considered rude in polite society, but if you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your concerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects.
