breakfast

Remember the days when you let your child have some chocolate if he finished his cereal? Now, chocolate is one of the cereals.

I beg to differ on Charles Bukowski, who says nothing can save you, except writing. Sometimes, absolutely nothing will save you, not the nights you end up wasting waiting for something grand to happen, not the mornings where coffee has no taste and you wake up knowing the day will not be a blast, not the plans and schemes you write down on your imaginary flipchart to make the world go round. You end up stuck, alone and in the disparate points of chaos that drag you down, you have to come up with something to save yourself. Then you make six impossible wishes before breakfast, start walking and working and learn to seize what you call paranormal activity when it comes true.

Personal identity seems like it's just such an American archetype, from Holly Golightly re-inventing herself in 'Breakfast At Tiffany's' to Jay Gatsby in 'The Great Gatsby.' It seems like the sort of archetypal American issue. If you're given the freedom to be anything, or be anyone, what do you do with it?

When I'm not on tour, I love to have a long breakfast at home in my garden.

Well, I'm not good with sliminess. I hate the thought of creatures that have slime on them or creatures that leave a slimy trail. At home, the sight of a slug can bring up my breakfast.

Once a woman has forgiven her man, she must not reheat his sins for breakfast.

Expect problems and eat them for breakfast.

I had sadness for breakfast.

I believe the friendship of the Games still exists. There is a tremendous camaraderie and atmosphere at the Olympic and Commonwealth Games - where else could you go and sit down and have breakfast with a Russian weightlifter, an East German sprinter, and an Indian fencer and talk about different cultures and problems?

The idea that you can merchandise candidates for high office like breakfast cereal - that you can gather votes like box tops - is, I think, the ultimate indignity to the democratic process.

You expect far too much of a first sentence. Think of it as analogous to a good country breakfast: what we want is something simple, but nourishing to the imagination.

My problem is that my imagination won't turn off. I wake up so excited I can't eat breakfast. I've never run out of energy. It's not like OPEC oil I don't worry about a premium going on my energy. It's just always been there. I got it from my mom.

I cannot go to Montreal without going to Beauty's, my favorite place for breakfast, where I have the Mish-Mash omelet with hot dogs, salami, eggs, green peppers, and onions, and the best banana bread in the world. It's legendary!

I really don't do much on the night of Thanksgiving other than bring the wine and carve the turkey. My contribution comes the day after, in the form of breakfast. I usually just forage through the leftovers for things that will go well with eggs.

Everywhere I travel around my home state of Wyoming - but also around the country - I continue to hear, 'How can Washington make us buy something we don't want to buy, a product? They can't tell us to buy breakfast cereal or something else - how can they do that?'

I always like to arrive at the airport early to enjoy breakfast and lounge about so that when I get on the plane all my travel fever has disappeared.

My body is like breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I don't think about it, I just have it.

Bacon has been a staple of the American diet since the first European settlers, but until recently, it was consumed in a predictable, seasonal pattern. The bulk of sales came from home consumers, diners, and pancake houses, which fried it up along with eggs for breakfast.