Quotes & Sayings About A Kitchen Tea

Karen led her guest into the kitchen where she'd laid the table with flowers and her prettiest stoneware in neat place settings amidst good coffee and cake smells, with a hope that now seemed transparent for its desire to impress with simplicity and goodness: a childlike tea party dream. — V.S. Kemanis

I think about the people I know with the absolutely largest hearts, people with a stunning capacity for endurance and grace and kindness against the most screaming terrors and pains. My Mom and Dad, for example, enduring the death of their first child at six months old, the boy the brother I never met, dying quietly in his stroller on the porch in the moment that my mother stepped back inside to get a pair of gloves because the crisp brilliant April wind was filled with a whistling cutting wind....

Fifty years later after five more children and two miscarriages she is standing in the kitchen with her usual eternal endless cup of tea and I ask her: How do you get over the death of your child?

And she says, in her blunt honest direct terse kind way,
You don't.
Her face harrowed like a hawk for a moment in the swirling steam of the tea.
p112-13 — Brian Doyle

We shouldn't have left." Keeley paced the kitchen, stopping at the windows on each pass. Why weren't they back?
"Darling, you're shaking. Come on now, sit and drink your tea."
"I can't.What's wrong with men? They'd have beaten that idiot to a pulp.I'm not that surprised at Brian,I suppose, but I expected more restraint from Dad."
Genuinely surprised, Adelia glanced over. "Why?"
As worry ate through her she raked her hands through her hair. "He's contained. Now you,I could see you taking a few swings ... " SHe winced. "No offense," she said, then saw that her mother was grinning.
"None taken.My temper might be a bit, we'll say, more colorful than your father's. His tends to be cold and deliberate when it's called for.And it was.The man hurt and frightened his little girl."
"His little girl was about to attempt to gut the man with a hoof pick." Keeley blew out a breath. "I've never seen Dad hit anyone, or look like he wanted to keep right on with it. — Nora Roberts

Maybe real-life Mom didn't vacuum the house flawlessly arrayed in pearls and a pleated shirt like the mother on leave it to beaver. Maybe she flirted with the milkman or waited for the kids to go to bed so she could hammer back a couple of mugs of vodka pretending it was tea. But she was there to greet us when we came home from school in the afternoon. She made us dinner, kept watch on us through the kitchen window, put Band-Aids on our scrapes and bruises.
She was Mom and that was no small thing. — Andrew Klavan

The place I like best in this world is the kitchen. No matter where it is, no matter what kind, if it's a kitchen, if it's a place where they make food, it's fine with me. Ideally it should be well broken in. Lots of tea towels, dry and immaculate. Where tile catching the light (ting! Ting!) — Banana Yoshimoto

Sometimes I feel that I am destined always to be offstage whenever the main action occurs. That God has made me the victim of some cosmic practical joke, by assigning me little more than a walk-on part in my own life. Or sometimes I feel that my role is simply to be a spectator to other people's stories, and always to wander away at the most important moment, drifiting into the kitchen to make a cup of tea just as the denouement unfolds. — Jonathan Coe

I try not to "perform." I try to come on stage and be myself, to sing the way I would in a room by myself, to interact with the audience the way I would relate to them if we were in my kitchen drinking tea and making up silly songs. Maybe the way to get past the fear of being ourselves is simply to try it more often. — Bobby McFerrin

Dougal eyed the breakfast repast. In addition to burnt toast, there was poorly trimmed ham, eggs that looked rubbery enough to bounce off the floor, pathetically dry scones, and small, smoking pieces of something he suspected had once been kippers.
Sophia noted Dougal's disgusted expression, and her heart lifted.
He looked amazingly handsome this morning, dressed in a pale blue riding coat and white shirt, his dark blond hair curling over his collar, his green eyes glinting as he began to fill his plate. Two scones, a scoop of eggs, and a large piece of blackened ham all went onto his plate.
Sophia had eaten earlier in the kitchen with Mary, who had served warm muffins with cream and marmalade, some lovely bacon, and crusty toast, complemented by a pot of hot tea.
Sophia hid a smile as Dougal attempted to cut his ham. Too tough for his blade, it tore into uneven pieces under his knife. He lifted a piece and regarded it on the tines of his fork. — Karen Hawkins

The biggest considerations I had were practical: how do you move such a large number of actors around a small space? So, for example, if I have to have the mother bring a pot of tea from the kitchen to the living room and serve it to the others, how do I, on a practical level, get everyone into the frame? Any decisions I made about the camera angles or movement came out of necessity, versus any sort of stylistic choice. — Hirokazu Koreeda

She swallowed, watching as the servants and Harry and Bert trooped out of the room. Lad, apparently not the brightest dog in the world, sat down next to Mickey O'Connor and leaned against his leg.
Mr. O'Connor looked at the dog, looked at the damp spot growing on his breeches where the dog was leaning, and sighed. "I find me life is not as quiet as it used to be afore ye came to me palace, Mrs. Hollingbrook."
Silence lifted her chin. "You're a pirate, Mr. O'Connor. I cannot believe your life was ever very quiet."
He gave her an ironic look. "Aye, amazin', isn't it? Yet since yer arrival me servants no longer obey me and I return home to find me kitchen flooded." He crossed to a cupboard and took down a china teapot, a tin of tea, and a teacup. "And me dog smells like a whorehouse."
Silence glanced guiltily at Lad. "The only soap we could find was rose scented. — Elizabeth Hoyt

I record my radio show, and my staff makes me a nice lunch in the kitchen, usually fish - whatever's freshest and line-caught - and a salad. I drink water and herbal tea, a blend of catnip, elderberry, and horehound. — Martha Stewart

I do love improvisation, I love when I find an object in my studio or kitchen (look, a tea sample's tiny glass jar!) and instantly incorporate it in a project. It makes me feel creative on an every day basis. — Signe Baumane

I've never cooked. I can't do much more in the kitchen than make a cup of tea and some toast. — Ethel Merman

Guests stay where you've put them, and carry on doing whatever you suggested they do, until you suggest they stop and do something else. If you leave them drinking a cup of tea and looking through your holiday slides, they're supposed to sit tight till you ask them to come string and beans in your kitchen. — Anne Fine

Women are generally responsible for all the cooking and planning of meals in private households, but I have never known any to bother about "proper meals" without a man around. Left to ourselves, we glory in "feasting" - standing at the kitchen table, or wrapped in blankets before the fire - on whatever wild assortment we can forage from the larder, or delight in a "nursery tea" of soft-boiled eggs with bread and butter; or dine on tea and cakes, or apples and cheese, while reading."
The Curious Affair of the Dead Wives — Lisa Tuttle

Once in a while we burned a wok trying to make our churan, and Jima, Bhanu, or another matriarch would banish us from the kitchen. "You should've told us," they'd say. "We would've helped you." You're not getting it, Neela and I thought. This is our party and you're not invited. To this day, the elder women of my household in Chennai still regard Neela or me with suspicion whenever we enter the kitchen to make anything other than tea. No matter that I host a cooking show or that Neela has raised two healthy daughters who clearly haven't starved or been disfigured by a kitchen accident. — Padma Lakshmi

I can't live without my cup of tea. When I was a judge on 'America's Next Top Model,' they had to put me in a hotel where I had my own kitchen, because they can't make tea in America. I was happy then because I could make my own. — Twiggy

Cynthia came in quietly and set a cup of tea before him. He kissed her hand, inexpressibly grateful, and she went back into the kitchen. When we view the little things with thanksgiving, even they become big things. — Jan Karon

You weren't kidding about the rolls," Rebus said, taking another bite.

"Bacon just the right side of crispy," Robert Chatham agreed.

They were seated across from one another at a booth with padded seats and a Formica-topped table. Mugs of dark-brown tea and plates in front of them, Radio Forth belting out from the kitchen. — Ian Rankin

Working Nine to Five Wet, cold, miserable, Monday morning. I had toast for breakfast, no bananas. I think my mum is taking out her revenge on Steve's behalf by withholding the purchase of bananas. I stood by the sink sipping my morning tea watching the rain wash down the kitchen window. Damn, I noticed that an eye had fallen off one of my bunny slippers. I decided to wear the blue pencil skirt with a white blouse to work and to tie my hair up as best I could. The journey was short and uneventful, no desperate people throwing themselves in — Betty Byers

In the kitchen, Chris pours her a glass of sun tea. Bitter. She hates the way they make tea up here. Tea should be sweet, gritty with sugar. Up here it's like the Yankees want their tea to taste like wash water. — Chuck Wendig

Michelle: It wasn't my house. It was owned by a brownie couple who owned it and rented out suites. There were a few long-term renters, like me, but it also functioned as a bed and breakfast to people and magical creatures passing through. A renter, like myself, was entitled to two meals a day, which made up for the microscopic kitchen. Being something of an indifferent or terrible cook, those kept me from eating fast food every day. I walked inside, barely pausing to wipe my feet on the mat. I swung to the right and stumbled into the dining room, hardly looking at the long table or who might be at it. I made a bee-line for the tea and slurped down half a mug. The hot, caffeinated beverage forced my eyes open and gave my movement some energy. While topping off my mug, I looked around and saw two unicorns, a dwarf and five shifters. — N.E. Conneely

I am an insomniac. Most of my nights include a moment of wakening. Often I will make my way to the kitchen to make tea and read for awhile. — Jacqueline Novogratz

But he knew, for example, that the things at the ends of his legs were his feet and that if he chose to waggle them, they would waggle. There they went. He knew that if he wanted to he could go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea and not get lost. So he did. — Mal Peet

Their cook at Badenoch was a crotchety old lady who hadn't tried a new recipe in decades. "Dinna tell Mrs. MacGuff that or she'll put a spider in your tea."
"Try it and tell me 'tis not worth the risk." He tore off a corner of the bridie and lifted the bite to Katherine's lips.
It fairly melted on her tongue. In addition to the crusty pasty, a unique mix of spices seasoned the savory meat inside, a burst of sensations for her mouth. "Och, you're right. This is worth braving a spider. I'll get Cook to show me how she makes these, and then Mrs. MacGuff will either learn from me or she'll have to suffer my presence in her kitchen from time to time. And we know how she loves that!"
"So," he said smugly, his dark eyes alight with triumph, "ye do intend to come home with me after Christmas, then. — Mia Marlowe

Then, while Cinnamon straightened up the kitchen as usual, Nutmeg and I sat at a small table, drinking tea. She ate only one slice of toast, with a little butter. Outside, a cold, sleety rain was falling. Nutmeg said little, and I said little - a few remarks about the weather. She seemed to have something she wanted to say, though. That much was clear from the look on her face and the way she spoke. She tore off stamp-sized pieces of toast and transported them, one at a time, to her mouth. We looked out at the rain now and then, as if it were our longtime mutual friend. — Haruki Murakami

In Ireland, you go to someone's house, and she asks you if you want a cup of tea. You say no, thank you, you're really just fine. She asks if you're sure. You say of course you're sure, really, you don't need a thing. Except they pronounce it ting. You don't need a ting. Well, she says then, I was going to get myself some anyway, so it would be no trouble. Ah, you say, well, if you were going to get yourself some, I wouldn't mind a spot of tea, at that, so long as it's no trouble and I can give you a hand in the kitchen. Then you go through the whole thing all over again until you both end up in the kitchen drinking tea and chatting.
In America, someone asks you if you want a cup of tea, you say no, and then you don't get any damned tea.
I liked the Irish way better. — C.E. Murphy

I don't care where you went to school. There - have I made your day? No? All right, I'll go further: I also don't care what your dad did for a living or how your mum voted. Nor do I mind whether you ate your tea in front of the telly, dinner at the kitchen table, or supper in the dining room. — Robert Webb

I went back into the house and had put on the kettle for another cup of tea when my attention was caught by a spider on the kitchen wall. As I drew nearer to look at it, the spider called out, "Hello!" It did not seem at all strange to me that a spider should say hello (any more than it seemed strange to Alice when the White Rabbit spoke). I said, "Hello, yourself," and with this we started a conversation, mostly on rather technical matters of analytic philosophy. Perhaps this direction was suggested by the spider's opening comment: did I think that Bertrand Russell had exploded Frege's paradox? Or perhaps it was its voice - pointed, incisive, and just like Russell's voice (which I had heard on the radio, but also - hilariously - as it had been parodied in Beyond the Fringe).9 D — Oliver Sacks

She asked if she could sleep in my bed that night and I said yes and we went upstairs and lay close together in the narrow bed and I wondered if maybe she missed her mother, and then around halfway through the night Edmond came in saying he was lonely and he lay down too only facing in the other direction since it was the only way he could fit, and then around sunrise Isaac wandered in too wondering where everyone had gone and when he saw us he just smiled a little and went down to the kitchen and brought up the big brown teapot and some mugs on a tray and we all piled together on the bed on top of each other like puppies and drank our tea while the sun streamed in thick and yellow through the window. And — Meg Rosoff

Hastily, she put down the teacup. 'What do I do? What do I do?' she'd muttered as she resumed fast-pacing round the kitchen, dabbing a tea-towel absently at the stain, then clutching it to her breast like a lifesaver. 'Call the cops? No I can't do that ... Go and help him?' She envisioned the grizzly scene. 'No, I don't really want to do that. — Teresa Schulz

He sat with his cup of tea at the kitchen table. On the window ledge beside him stood the two bottles of cherry brandy, one half empty, the other full. Romantic thoughts stirred in the silence, touching again on unwritten novels and the past. He suddenly had the sensation of being abroad, out of reach of yesterday's existence. This abroad was a place of tranquillity, a Switzerland of the soul blanketed in snows of peace, permeated with a dread of causing disturbance; where no bird sang or called, as if out of no desire to. — Andrey Kurkov

He's crazy," Bruno said, twirling a finger in circles around the side of his head and whistling to indicate just how crazy he thought he was. "He went up to a cat on the street the other day and invited her over for afternoon tea." "What did the cat say?" asked Gretel, who was making a sandwich in the corner of the kitchen. "Nothing." explained Bruno. "It was a cat. — John Boyne

Syn checked the lorina's feeder in the kitchen. "Where are the mongrels?"
Nykyrian took a sip of tea before he answered. "They were confused by all the people. Last I saw of them, they were hiding out in my bed."
Darling frowned. "They don't bite, do they?"
Nykyrian scoffed. "I'm the only thing that bites in this house."
-Syn, Nykyrian, & Darling — Sherrilyn Kenyon

My second meeting with Vincent Starrett began on a cool Sunday afternoon in May of 1962. After a short interlude, he returned from the kitchen precariously balancing a large cup of tea on a very small saucer. It was the largest tea cup I had ever seen, large enough to startle, I am inclined to suspect, even the Mad Hatter in 'Alice in Wonderland. — Peter Ruber

Sometimes, waking early before the others, wandering the rooms wrapped in a blanket or drinking my tea in the empty kitchen, I had that most rare of feelings, the sense that the world, so consistently overwhelming and incomprehensible, in fact has an order, oblique as it may seem, and I a place within it. — Nicole Krauss

I'd happily just stay on the road. Getting home from America, sitting in my kitchen with a cup of tea, staring out of the window is pretty depressing. I didn't have a tour manager to tell me what to do so I had to start reaching out to people and making plans. That was hard. You become very vegetable-y. — Ben Lovett

We hold these stories and mad idea and events in our head and they run around and around telling us we are different, separate, broken.
Then one day the mad idea escapes the asylum. Most times it's unplanned. It just tumbles out on the lap of the man sitting next to us on the bus, or it slips sideways into a conversation on line at the Trader Joe's or it falls out at the kitchen table when your neighbor comes to pick up her cat.
And there is a terrifying moment when it first hits the light of day, where we think, "holy mother of God! What have I done? How could I have been to casual with my crazy ways?"
But the man on the bus just smiles and nods his head, and the casher takes a moment to look us in the eye and the neighbor sits for a cup of tea and together we move into some new agreements that we are all in fact crazy and it's so much nicer to be out of the closet with it all. — Maureen Muldoon

When I was in fourth grade, a novelist came to talk to my English class. She told us that being an author meant sitting at the kitchen table in pajamas, drinking tea with the dogs at your feet. — J. Courtney Sullivan