breakfast

Our traditions have been waking up on Christmas morning and feasting on a southern breakfast. I'm from the South. We eat grits and biscuits and gravy and eggs with Ritz crackers and country ham, bacon, you name it.

Breakfast is a big deal. I love it.

I think maybe today a poem I hopeafter breakfast I start tryingpulling it out of my own gutmostly by force

People who insist on telling their dreams are among the terrors of the breakfast table.

Non-violence is a permanent attitude we bring to the breakfast table and bring to bed at night.

All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast.

You must take into account the actual distinction between truth and fact. It is beyond all human power to tell all the facts. Your whole lifetime spent at nothing else would not tell all the facts of one morning in your life, just any ordinary morning when you get up, dress, get breakfast and wash the dishes. Facts are infinite in number. The truth is a meaning underlying them; you tell the truth by selecting the facts to illustrate it.

Every morning Mrs Eglantine sat at the round bamboo bar of the New Pacific Hotel and drank her breakfast. This consisted of two quick large brandies, followed by several slower ones. By noon breakfast had become lunch and by two o'clock the pouches under and above Mrs Eglantine's bleared blue eyes began to look like large puffed pink prawns.

French toast? Frittata?Definitely frittata.Leaving the table again, she transferred a small packet from freezer to fridge. It was salmon, home-smoked on the island and more delicious than any she had ever found elsewhere. Smoked salmon wasn't Cecily's doing, but the dried basil and thyme she took from the herb rack were. Taking a vacuum-sealed package of sun-dried tomatoes from the cupboard, she set it on the counter beside the herbs. Frittata, hot biscuits, and fruit salad. With mimosas. And coffee. That sounded right. Eaten out on the deck maybe?No, not on the deck, unless the prevailing winds turned suddenly warm.They would eat here in the kitchen, with whatever flowers the morning produced. Surely more lavender. A woman could never have enough lavender- or daylilies or astilbe, neither of which should bloom this early, but both of which had looked further along than the lavender, yesterday morning, so you never knew.

The days were sunny, the nights were star-studded. Indeed married life was strawberries for breakfast and loving all the time.

I can eat you at breakfast, not because I am a monster; it is only because you are too cute and yummy.

It [Foucault's Pendulum] can be very comforting for people of my generation, who ate disappointment for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Having her favorite breakfast always made her feel cozy, like a warm blanket was being wrapped around her.

Does he ever eat cotton candy for breakfast?"He stepped around the counter to face us, lowered his gaze, and took a sip from the black mug in his hands."No," I said. "He's very much like the Big Bad Wolf. He eats little girls for breakfast."He spoke from behind the cup, his voice deep and as smooth as butterscotch. "She's wrong. I eat big girls for breakfast.

The salt is to the food, what soul is to the body.

We love our mother because she cares and also because she cooks.

A good food is mouthwatering when you see it and finger licking when you eat it.

Some people when they see cheese, chocolate or cake they don't think of calories.