We ate the birds. We ate them. We wanted their songs to flow up through our throats and burst out of our mouths, and so we ate them. We wanted their feathers to bud from our flesh. We wanted their wings, we wanted to fly as they did, soar freely among the treetops and the clouds, and so we ate them. We speared them, we clubbed them, we tangled their feet in glue, we netted them, we spitted them, we threw them onto hot coals, and all for love, because we loved them. We wanted to be one with them. We wanted to hatch out of clean, smooth, beautiful eggs, as they did, back when we were young and agile and innocent of cause and effect, we did not want the mess of being born, and so we crammed the birds into our gullets, feathers and all, but it was no use, we couldn't sing, not effortlessly as they do, we can't fly, not without smoke and metal, and as for the eggs we don't stand a chance. We're mired in gravity, we're earthbound. We're ankle-deep in blood, and all because we ate the birds, we ate them a long time ago, when we still had the power to say no.
I ate them like salad, books were my sandwich for lunch, my tiffin and dinner and midnight munch. I tore out the pages, ate them with salt, doused them with relish, gnawed on the bindings, turned the chapters with my tongue! Books by the dozen, the score and the billion. I carried so many home I was hunchbacked for years. Philosophy, art history, politics, social science, the poem, the essay, the grandiose play, you name 'em, I ate 'em.
That was cool, getting to work with Ryan Gosling. I knew he was going to be a huge star after I saw him in that Showtime thing that he did when he was really young [The Believer]. I think the most fun thing about that was I'd never seen somebody that had so many questions about the specifics of everything: where you ate, how much you ate, how much you drank. He's very special.
Way, way back in the day, like in the 1990s, if you wanted to tell everyone you ate waffles for breakfast, you couldn't just go on the Internet and tweet it out. There was only one way to do it. You had to go outside and scream at the top of your lungs, 'I ate waffles for breakfast!' That's why so many people ended up in institutions. They seemed crazy, but when you think about it, they were just ahead of their time.
I think the lies I make the most are in regards to my hopes and intentions for myself. As for lies I tell other people - I will certainly tell lies. When somebody is very ill and looks awful, and you tell them they look nice. Or if you just ate the last cookie, if someone asked me if I ate the last cookie, I would definitely lie about that.
For the first time in my life, I was eating well and from plates-glass plates, no less, not out of the frying pan because somebody lost all the plates in the last move. Now when we ate, we sat at a fine round oak table in sturdy chairs that matched. No one rushed through the meal or argued over who got the biggest portion, and we ate three times a day.
John William Tuohy
At about the age of seven ... I wrote exactly the kinds of stories I was reading: All my characters were white and blue-eyed, they played in the snow, they ate apples, and they talked a lot about the weather: how lovely it was that the sun had come out. This despite the fact that I lived in Nigeria; we didn't have snow, we ate mangoes, and we never talked about the weather, because there was no need to.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Growing up the way I grew up, food was scarce. So when you had an opportunity to eat, you ate. When I graduated from high school and went to college, I weighed 160 pounds. So, I knew I had to put on the weight. I ate everything from fried food to fried chicken wings. When I came to Green Bay, I did the same thing because I was 172 pounds.
I want you to meet my dad." 'I would be honored, Alessandra.' Sabin smiled down at her, adoring her as much with his eyes as with his touch. 'But tarnation, woman, you're taking me to my end. You look like the cat that ate the canary. If you don't vanilla up, your daddy's gonna kill me on sight.' 'Ate? I mauled that little fer and swallowed his yellow ass whole.' 'Yeah, ' Sabin laughed, 'and he's one lucky bird, but he ain't little.
Americanomics works, and I won't argue that is true. But if the economy is getting better, getting better for who? Well, if you ask me, I'm doing much worse than before, With the welfare cuts, I don't eat no more. So if I did wanna go out, I couldn't go nowhere, Cause I ate every last one of them reindeer. Rudolph first, I went down the list, I got so hungry, I just couldn't resist. I ate Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Dixon, Fried them up and then started to mix them. And before you knew it, they were all gone, I wonder what y'all gonna do about my reindeer song!
Kool Moe Dee
She had begun to bake to have her eyes looking at a bowl, a flour bin, an oven, a fire, a face, anything but water. Her hands shaped loaves like scallop shells, like moon shells, like starfish; she ate them as if she ate the sea, to make it part of her, to transform bone to shell and lose herself in it, eyeless, thoughtless, wrapped in memories and anchored on some hoary rock against the currents of the deep.
Patricia A. McKillip
Otherwise I got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise. I ate cereal, sweet milk, ripe, flawless peach. It might have been otherwise. I took the dog uphill to the birch wood. All morning I did the work I love. At noon I lay down with my mate. It might have been otherwise. We ate dinner together at a table with silver candlesticks. It might have been otherwise. I slept in a bed in a room with paintings on the walls, and planned another day just like this day. But one day, I know, it will be otherwise.
it was one of the best meals we ever ate. Perhaps that is because it was the first conscious one, for me at least; but the fact that we remember it with such queer clarity must mean that it had other reasons for being important. I suppose that happens at least once to every human. I hope so. Now the hills are cut through with superhighways, and I can't say whether we sat that night in Mint Canyon or Bouquet, and the three of us are in some ways even more than twenty-five years older than we were then. And still the warm round peach pie and the cool yellow cream we ate together that August night live in our hearts' palates, succulent, secret, delicious.
Phoenix is great. I love Phoenix, ... I love Scottsdale. I love the James Hotel. I have a Kathy Griffin suite. I love -what's that place called? AZ 88. I had never had a cheese crisp, so I went to - oh, can't remember. We went to the State Fair, where I was all about the deep-fried Twinkie. I ate every deep-fried thing - oh, it was heavenly. I ate until I got sick.
Phoenix is great. I love Phoenix, .. I love Scottsdale. I love the James Hotel. I have a Kathy Griffin suite. I love -what's that place called? AZ 88. I had never had a cheese crisp, so I went to - oh, can't remember. We went to the State Fair, where I was all about the deep-fried Twinkie. I ate every deep-fried thing - oh, it was heavenly. I ate until I got sick.
Como agir sem pressupor? Sem arriscar um experimento e queima-roupa? Pra que viver sem expectativas? Sem a esperane§a de um prazer desinibido? Aspiro inspirae§eµes, inspiro aspirae§eµes e vivo elucidae§eµes lericas ate expirar de vez o sopro de vida para longe, longe do meu peito. Quem sabe ate tuas me£os.
Our Ancestors came to Australia, foraged for food in a rain forest where AM grew, ate the AM, and suffered the effects of muscimol hallucinations in a cave and drew paintings of a religious nature and these paintings were confirmed at 50, 000 years ago, at the exact inception of religion. This was done by a species that never had religion before that. Since the species would therefore have no religious content until they ate the hallucinogens, it follows that these AM were the start of religion.
Leviak B. Kelly
There were always more Negroes in the field than there was Negroes in the house. The Negro in the field caught hell. He ate leftovers. In the house they ate high up on the hog. The Negro in the field didn't get nothing but what was left of the insides of the hog. They call 'em "chitt'lin'" nowadays. In those days they called them what they were: guts. That's what you were -- a gut-eater. And some of you all still gut-eaters.
Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children's letters "" sometimes very hastily "" but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, "Dear Jim: I loved your card." Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, "Jim loved your card so much he ate it." That to me was one of the highest compliments I've ever received. He didn't care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.
the question of portion size. When I ate Doritos or a Big Mac, I dept on eating and eating, and later experienced McRegret. So why when I ate a fourteen-week-old barred rock [heirloom breed chicken] or a grapefruit did I find it tremendously delicious and yet tremendously satisfying? If these foods tasted better, shouldn't I have just kept on gorging? Fred Provenza believes the difference comes down to what he calls "deep satiety." "Fundamentally, " he told me, "eating too much is an inability to satiate." Wen food meets needs at "multiple levels, " it provides a feeling of "completeness" and offers a satisfaction that's altogether different from being stuffed.
I like things to be orderly. For seven years I ate at Bob's Big Boy. I would go at 2:30, after the lunch rush. I ate a chocolate shake and four, five, six, seven cups of coffee-with lots of sugar. And there's lots of sugar in that chocolate shake. It's a thick shake. In a silver goblet. I would get a rush from all this sugar, and I would get so many ideas! I would write them on these napkins. It was like I had a desk with paper. All I had to do was remember to bring my pen, but a waitress would give me one if I remembered to return it at the end of my stay. I got a lot of ideas at Bob's.
t smells in. Let the smell of hot tarmac in the summer remind you of a meal you ate the first time you landed in a hot place, when the ground smelled like it was melting. Let the smell of salt remind you of a paper basket of fried clams you ate once, squeezing them with lemon as you walked on a boardwalk. Let it reach your deeper interest. When you smell the sea, and remember the basket of hot fried clams, and the sound of skee-balls knocking against each other, let it help you love what food can do, which is to tie this moment to that one. Then something about the wind off the sea will have settled in your mind, and carried the fried clams and squeeze of a lemon with it.