Way too much coffee. But if it weren't for the coffee, I'd have no identifiable personality whatsoever.
If you can't dance on it, it isn't coffee.
Our life is made up of time; our days are measured in hours, our pay measured by those hours, our knowledge is measured by years. We grab a few quick minutes in our busy day to have a coffee break. We rush back to our desks, we watch the clock, we live by appointments. And yet your time eventually runs out and you wonder in your heart of hearts if those seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years and decades were being spent the best way they possibly could. In other words, if you could change anything, would you?
The coffee shop smell was strong enough to build a garage on.
I was taken by the power that savoring a simple cup of coffee can have to connect people and create community.
There is no better love potion than a coffee. When a man drinks the coffee made by you he will become forever yours.
People say to me all the time that I threw some money into some guy's coffee cup [by accident, thinking they were poor]. People do make the same sort of mistake. I've made attempts to volunteer that have been calamitous!
I am a coffee fanatic. Once you go to proper coffee, you can't go back. You cannot go back.
I don't have a very routine life; the kids' activities, our nightly routines, and morning routines are about as routine as it gets. In the middle of it all - other than my morning coffee, toast, and trying to get 7-8 hours of sleep a night - each day is different.
Or perhaps a widow found him and took him in: brought him an easy chair, changed his sweater every morning, shaved his face until the hair stopped growing, took him faithfully to bed with her every night, whispered sweet nothings into what was left of his ear, laughed with him over black coffee, cried with him over yellowing pictures, talked greenly about having kids of her own, began to miss him before she became sick, left him everything in her will, thought of only him as she died, always knew he was fiction but believed in him anyway.
Talk is a pure art. Its only limits are the patience of listeners who, when they get tired, can always pay for their coffee or change it with a friendly waiter and walk out.
Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.
I probably have about four or five cups of coffee a day. I make myself an espresso macchiato when I wake, which is a shot of espresso and just a dollop of steamed milk. Then, if I'm going to do some work at home, I would make myself a French press. It's the best way to make conventional coffee.
It is disgusting to note the increase in the quantity of coffee used by my subjects and the amount of money that goes out of the country in consequence. Everybody is using coffee. If possible, this must be prevented. My people must drink beer.
Sadness is just another word for not enough coffee.
I love cranberry juice, but I'm not a coffee drinker - as a Mormon, I avoid caffeine.
That seems like stealing, doesn't it?" Simon pulled a cup toward him. He drew the lid back. "Ooh. Mochaccino. " He looked at Magnus. "Did you pay for these?" "Sure," said Magnus, while Jace and Alec snickered. "I make dollar bills magically appear in their cash register. " "Really?" "No. " Magnus popped the lid off his own coffee. "But you can pretend I did if it makes you feel better. So, first order of business is what?
I like light green, sometimes red is fun to look at, not a fan of yellow, unless it's in a rainbow or on a coffee mug or on a happy face.
The trick in foraging for a tooth lost in coffee grounds is not to be misled by the clumps. The only way to be sure is to rub each clump between your thumb and index finger, which makes a mess of your hands.
Coffee arrived and the espresso was excellent, like an aromatic electric fence.