Quotes & Sayings About Chocolate And Birthday

My grandfather so throughly considered cooking to be "women's work" that he wouldn't even enter the kitchen to get his own glass of water. My husband, born sixty-one years after my grandfather, shows his love by bringing me coffee every morning and whipping up chocolate-chip cookies for friends' birthday parties. I think it's fair to say that few young men these days feel less masculine for knowing their way around a kitchen. — Emily Matchar

My parents screened 'Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory' for my 6th birthday, and I became fascinated by the idea of living in a candy land with chocolate rivers and lollipop trees. — Dylan Lauren

The cake was sinfully decadent, dripping with chocolate, exactly the way a birthday cake should be. — Rysa Walker

Mondays taste like split-pea soup,

Tuesdays taste like gobbledygook,

Wednesdays taste like licorice,

Thursdays taste like deep-fried fish,

Fridays taste like the color red,

Saturdays taste like gingerbread,

Sundays taste like chicken breast,

But birthdays! Birthdays taste the best!

Birthdays taste like chocolate cake,

Balloons, presents, and sirloin steak. — Claudine Carmel

I never got a chocolate birthday cake; I got a carob one. And when I went to other kids' houses, I was very covetous of things like Cheez Whiz that I'd find in their refrigerators. — Amanda Marshall

Most of us have fond memories of food from our childhood. Whether it was our mom's homemade lasagna or a memorable chocolate birthday cake, food has a way of transporting us back to the past. — Homaro Cantu

As a first-generation Ethiopian immigrant, Sheba had lived in Charleston since she turned five years of age. She was Ethiopian by birth, but American by preference. She had worked hard, studied and sacrificed plenty to get where she was today, no easy feat for someone who had just celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday. According to her friends, Sheba was a beauty, though when she looked in the mirror, she saw inevitable flaws; her cheekbones were too pronounced, her mouth a little too wide, her nose with that perturbing slant to it. Still, she accepted compliments gratefully, especially from her roommate, Janelle. Janelle was the true beauty, Sheba thought, with dark ebony skin so smooth that she could be a walking ad for Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate. — Joanna Hynes

Silas baked me a cake for my birthday. It was awful. I think he forgot the eggs. But it was the most beautiful chocolate failure I've ever seen. I was so happy that I didn't even make a gag face when I ate a slice. But, oh god, it was so bad. Best boyfriend ever. — Tarryn Fisher

A cupcake temple?' Her chest still tight with anxiety, Bertie forced herself to imagine it: bricks of pound cake mortared with buttercream and chocolate ganache, torches like striped birthday candles set into the walls, pilgrims upon the Path of Delectable Righteousness delivering daily tributes of almond paste and raspberry filling ... — Lisa Mantchev

Was it tacky to get a cake during a hostage crisis? What was the protocol? She pictured chocolate frosting with white lettering: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HOPE YOUR DAUGHTER ISN'T DEAD. But this year was her fiftieth, a year with a zero. Veronica had to do something. So on her way to the condo she'd swung by a bakery and picked up a small German chocolate cake. It was her mom's favorite - or at least it had been, a decade ago. — Rob Thomas

I'm not big on dark chocolate, but I do have a sweet tooth, so it gets me in trouble. I love warm chocolate chip cookies with ice cream. Then there's this chocolate pie my mom makes for me every year for my birthday. She's been making it since I was younger, and there's nothing like it. It's really so, so good! — Phillip Phillips

Then the image changed to something else. A birthday cake. It was chocolate with a plastic horse in the center, rearing up. Four candles flickered around it.

"He's four," I said, trusting that that was what Eli was trying to tell me. But I knew. I'd seen the dates on the grave.

"He would be six now." She shook her head defiantly. I waited. The child looked up at me expectantly and then looked back at his mother.

"He's still four," I said. "Kids wait."

Her lower lip trembled and she bit into it. She was starting to believe me. That, or she was starting to hate me. Or maybe she already did.

"Wait for what?" Her voice was so soft I barely caught the question.

"Wait for someone to raise them. — Amy Harmon