Coffee Table Quotes & Sayings

It was like giving a Jewish kid a coffee-table book about Auschwitz. — Nell Zink

His phone sounded.
He grabbed it off his coffee table and his mouth curled up when he read, Kiss my ass, Merry.
Using his thumb, he returned, You want that, brown eyes, I'll work it in.
She didn't make him wait and shot back, Go fuck yourself.
Now, sweetheart, you know that's not the way it works.
Then came, We're done.
He ignored that and sent, Sleep tight. See you tomorrow. — Kristen Ashley

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

One of my problems is I am getting so mature that I have to pick up a TV and toss it through the coffee table just to remind people of who I am. I want to go ranting and screaming into the grave. — Michael O'Donoghue

I Dolci Libri

Rizzoli, the famed Italian purveyor of art tomes has over the years produced an entire library of gorgeous coffee table books. With the additional Universe imprint and partnerships with Flammarion and Skira the company has upped the ante on modernism in hardcover with a stack of architecture and design books that are as much nourishment for the mind as cannoli for the eye. Rizzoli's editors have their fingers on the pulse of what's happening right now and next in design in the United States and abroad. — Metropolitan Home

Adam's thumb tapped against his neck. "Your heart is racing."
No kidding.
Nick turned his head away and took the ice bag. He set it on the table and had to look into his coffee mug again.
"Sorry," said Adam. "I know there's no point in pushing your buttons. You're just so adorable when you blush like that." Then he was grinning. "Or like that. — Brigid Kemmerer

There's no handbook for parenting. So you walk a very fine line as a parent because you are civilizing these raw things. They will tip the coffee over and finger-paint on the table. At some point, you have to say, 'We're gonna have to clean that up because you don't paint with coffee on a table.' — Gary Oldman

Her eyes scanned the room and spotted her cell phone lying on the coffee table at least three whole feet away from her hands. She groaned. This was when she didn't want to be a witch, she wanted to be a Jedi, so she could use the Force to make her phone fly right into her hand.
What the hell, right? Lifting one arm she reached out an open hand toward the small electronic device. Use the Force, Wynn, she thought and had to stifle a slightly punch-drunk giggle.
From his seat in the oversized chair, Knox eyed her strangely. After a moment, she gave up and dropped her hand to her side, rolling her head along the sofa cusions to meet her mate's gaze. "What were just doing?" he asked warily.
"Using the Force."
He looked from her to the table and back again. "Did you do this successfully?"
She shook her head and grinned. "The Force is weak with this one. I'll never be a Jedi Master. — Christine Warren

My mother sat motionless at the kitchen table, her head cradled on one arm, the other extended toward her ever-present coffee mug. This was going to be another of her bad days.
It was hard to pinpoint when I'd given up hope that she would pull herself together--that me being in charge would be a temporary thing. But too many months had passed with nothing changing, except somewhere along the way I'd stopped feeling sympathy for her. Or anger. It was easier to not feel anything where my mother was concerned because then I could never be let down. — Elizabeth Langston

She pounded a skinny red coffee stirrer against the restaurant table with the rat, tat, tat of a machine gun. — Deanna Chase

There were always plenty of newspapers in the house. 'The Times', 'Guardian', 'Daily Telegraph' and 'Daily Mail' were all regular fixtures on the coffee table. I used to enjoy reading 'The Times' editorial pages and the 'Daily Mail' sports pages. — Lionel Barber

I was incredibly depressed and I found myself avoiding doing interviews where my [20-something daughters] could hear me - or leaving books on the coffee table they could see. — John H Richardson

Rosy's mummy hands Franny a clear plastic bag full of reject biscuits, then Rosy holds her cheek out for Franny's wet kiss. Rosy wipes the slime from her face and Franny cackles, then shows them both into the lounge.
There on Franny's coffee table is a biscuit tin with a Christmas picture on the lid. Proper shop-bought biscuits, not factory rejects.
"Please, may I have a biscuit?" Rosy says.
"Oh, there are no biscuits in that my darling," Franny says, and pulls the tin from Rosy's prying fingers. Franny holds open the bag of crumb-speckled chocolate digestives. "Help yourself, my wee hen."
Rosy settles for a reject.
Franny puts the Christmas tin up high, way up high, way out of reach. — R.G. Manse

Maybe it's just the fact that this has been one bitch of a day. Either way, his question annoys me. I kind of want to reach across the coffee table and smack him. — Rysa Walker

He's back in Maine now.She did say he badgered her with questions. Of course, she didn't have the answer until she spoke to me and found out you were here." Gennie frowned at the sea and said nothing. "She wondered if you were following Macintosh in the papers. It took me over two hours to figure why she would have asked that.
Gennie turned back with a speculative look which Serena met blandly. "Perhaps I'm not following you," she said, automatically guarding Grant's secret.
Serena took the pot the waiter placed on the table. "Coffee,Veronica?"
Gennie let out an admiring laugh and nodded her head. "You're very quick, Rena."
"I love puzzles," she corrected, "and the pieces were all there. — Nora Roberts

I really don't think you could appear any badder, Ollie." He huffed as he kicked up his legs onto the coffee table.
"At least I know 'badder' isn't a word." Jase smirked.
"That's about all you know. — J. Lynn

Hindsight is pointless, Arnuff," said the other man in the room, who was equally as old as the first. "Bring me one of those," he said, referring to the drink Arnuff held. Arnuff poured another bourbon and brought it to the coffee table. — J.T. Bishop

For instance, supposing that the planet earth were not a sphere but a gigantic coffee table,
how much difference in everyday life would that make? Granted, this is a pretty
farfetched example; you can't rearrange facts of life so freely. Still, picturing the planet
earth, for convenience sake, as a gigantic coffee table does in fact help clear away the
clutter - those practically pointless contingencies such as gravity and the international
dateline and the equator, those nagging details that arise from the spherical view. I mean,
for a guy leading a perfectly ordinary existence, how many times in the course of a
lifetime would the equator be a significant factor? — Haruki Murakami

But common sense comes too late, because Logan is now moving away from the counter and marching in my direction.

"Hey, gorgeous." He slides in the seat across from me and places a chocolate-chip muffin on the table. "I got you a muffin."

Damn it, I guess he'd noticed me right when he'd walked in.

"Why?" I ask in suspicion, and without saying hi.

"'Cause I wanted to get you something, and you already have coffee. Ergo, muffin."

I raise one eyebrow. "Are you trying to buy your way into my good graces?"

"Yup. And excellent pun, by the way."

"I wasn't punning. My name just happens to be a homonym."

His blue eyes gleam as he downright smolders at me. "I love it when you talk homonyms to me."

"Uh-huh. — Elle Kennedy

He laughed. "What's to say? Great paintings - people flock to see them, they draw crowds, they're reproduced endlessly on coffee mugs and mouse pads and anything-you-like. And, I count myself in the following, you can have a lifetime of perfectly sincere museum-going where you traipse around enjoying everything and then go out and have some lunch. But - " crossing back to the table to sit again " - if a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don't think, 'oh, I love this picture because it's universal.' 'I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.' That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you." Fingertip gliding over the faded-out photo - the conservator's touch, a touch-without-touching, a communion wafer's space between the surface and his forefinger. — Donna Tartt

Every touch ramped her desire higher and the carnal look in Chad's eyes was making swallowing difficult.By the time the waiter served their coffee, she was ready to throw him down on the table and ravish him in front of God and everybody. — Tamara Hoffa

Meghan pushed her chocolate cheesecake across the table to me. I hadn't gotten paid yet for November, so I had only ordered coffee. "Here," she said.
"Don't you want it?"
"Sure I want it. I ordered it. But I'm giving it to you."
"Why?"
Meghan stood up and got me a fork. "Remember what Nora said about love? In your movie?"
"Love is when you have a really amazing piece of cake, and it's the very last piece, but you let him have it," I said.
"So it's really amazing cake," said Meghan. "And I want you to have it. — E. Lockhart

You can take a book to the beach without worrying about sand getting in its works. You can take it to bed without being nervous about it falling to the floor should you nod off. You can spill coffee on it. You can sit on it. You can put it down on a table, open to the page you're reading, and when you pick it up a few days later it will still be exactly as you left it. You never have to be concerned about plugging a book into an outlet or having its battery die. — Nicholas Carr

A ripe suggestion," I said. "Where are you meeting her? At the Ritz?"
"Near the Ritz."
He was geographically accurate. About fifty yards east of the Ritz there is one of those blighted tea-and-bun shops you see dotted about all over London and into this, if you'll believe me, young Bingo dived like a homing rabbit; and before I had time to say a word we were wedged in at a table, on the brink of a silent pool of coffee left there by an early luncher. — P.G. Wodehouse

I got these big coffee table books about Chinese opera from the local library, and I loved looking through them. I loved studying the intricate costumes and figuring out how to 'cartoonify' them. — Gene Luen Yang

I love detail, like drawing what's on top of someone's coffee table. Maybe there's a little bowl of butterscotch candies on it, next to the four TV remotes. — Roz Chast

Nina threw herself into a chair at the table and wriggled her feet out of her jewelled slippers, digging her toes into the plush white carpet. "Ahhh," she said contentedly. "So much better." She shoved one of the cakes from the coffee service into her mouth and mumbled, "What do you want, Kaz?" "You have crumbs on your cleavage." "Don't care," she said, taking another bite of cake. "So hungry. — Leigh Bardugo

Oh, my tattered rags are caught on your coffee table. — Homer

Sit down," she said. She pushed the plate across the table towards him. The smell of the lemon was very alluring. Fred sat down, stirred his coffee, and looked at the cake with a kind of distant admiration.
"Can't quite manage the cake yet," he said. "Too terrified to eat."
"Terrified?" said Jess. "Of what?"
"Well, of you, of course. As you know cowardice is the bedrock of my character. It's taken me hours to summon up the courage to come here. I even had to have a vitamin C tablet. — Sue Limb

Our table was a large piece of freshly peeled birch bark, laid wrong side up, and our breakfast consisted of hard-bread, fried pork, and strong coffee well sweetened, in which we did not miss the milk. — Henry David Thoreau

I sit down in front of Baz now, on the coffee table
which I carried up by myself. He hands me his cup, and I take a sip. "What is this?"
"Pumpkin mocha breve. I created it myself. — Rainbow Rowell

It is a dreadful thing to see the dead city. Next to the port I found children, women, the old, waiting for a way to leave. I entered the houses, there were houses where the coffee and pita bread were left on the table, and I could not avoid [thinking] that this, indeed, had been the picture in many Jewish towns [i.e., in Europe, during World War II]'. — Golda Meir

Would you like to know how Charlotte got those nine stitches?" I asked suddenly, in a tone of voice that sounded perfectly normal to me. "We were up at the Lake. Seymour had written to Charlotte, inviting her to come up and visit us, and her mother finally let her. What happened was, she sat down in the middle of our driveway one morning to pet Boo Boo's cat, and Seymour threw a stone at her. He was twelve. That's all there was to it.

He threw it at her because she looked so beautiful sitting there in the middle of the driveway with Boo Boo's cat. Everybody knew that for God's sake-me, Charlotte, Boo Boo, Waker, Walt, the whole family." I stared at the pewter ashtray on the coffee table. "Charlotte never said a word to him about it. Not a word." I looked up at my guest, rather expecting him to dispute me, to call me a liar. I am a liar, of course. Charlotte never did understand why Seymour threw that stone at her. My guest didn't dispute me though. — J.D. Salinger

As a rule, capitalism is blamed for the undesired effects of a policy directed
at its elimination. The man who sips his morning coffee does not say, "Capitalism has brought this beverage to my breakfast table." But when he reads in the papers that the government of Brazil has ordered part of the coffee crop destroyed, he does not say, "That is government for you"; he exclaims, "That is capitalism for you. — Ludwig Von Mises

But I took a deep breath, and she sat there listening to me across my dirty coffee table, and we talked about community and family and authenticity. It's easy to talk about it, and really, really hard sometimes to practice it. This is why the door stays closed for so many of us, literally and figuratively. One friend promises she'll start having people over when they finally have money to remodel. Another says she'd be too nervous that people wouldn't eat the food she made, so she never makes the invitation. But it isn't about perfection, and it isn't about performance. You'll miss the richest moments in life - the sacred moments when we feel God's grace and presence through the actual faces and hands of the people we love - if you're too scared or too ashamed to open the door. I know it's scary, but throw open the door anyway, even though someone might see you in your terribly ugly half-zip. — Shauna Niequist

Tell me something good about your life," I whispered, needing to hear that he wasn't as broken as I thought him to be.
Peter breathed into the handset for about two minutes. I began wondering if he was about to hang up, or had fallen asleep, when he answered. "You."
It was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. And then he hung up before I could ask him to repeat himself.
I fell asleep, grinning, with the phone still clutched in my hand and my milk souring on the coffee table. — Dani Alexander

As day gradually turns to night, Nadia then lifts her naked body from the floor, and like a goddess, she moves across the room with a stride that gives complement to every curve of her figure. She now leans over the coffee table to strike a match that breaks the light of night that clings to her. One by one, Nadia lights each candle in perfect form as the glowing contrast of light and dark dances around the edges of her beautiful body. She then looks at me again, she being this magical creature who has given me life to every body and realm; and oh how grateful I am that she has found me. — Luccini Shurod

The lurking tragedy: The chances are that an accident will some day happen to you at a friend's dinner table ... As long as water and coffee and jelly exist, a certain percentage of each will necessarily be overturned upon a like number of snowy white tablecloths. Usually the tragedy is really no one's fault. — Mary Elizabeth Clark

I better go," Carter squeezed me once more and stood, grabbing his wallet from the coffee table. "I need to hit up the lottery if I want to get you out of this mess. Will you let me buy a monkey if we win, though?"
"Only if you buy me an island off the coast of Fiji."
"You crazy-ass woman. A monkey is so much cooler than an island."
"How about a monkey IN Fiji?"
"Now there's a woman after my own heart," Carter slapped his hand to his chest, sighing dramatically. "I'll let you know if we win." He started for the door.
"Uh huh."
"You'll know if we do. I'll be the one streaking on Pike Street. — Rachael Wade

There was a little plate of hothouse nectarines on the table, and there was another of grapes, and another of sponge-cakes, and there was a bottle of light wine ... 'This is my frugal breakfast ... Give me my peach, my cup of coffee, and my claret.' — Charles Dickens

While Adrian was interviewing in the back, I got a table and some coffee. Trey came to visit me after about fifteen minutes.
"Is that really your brother?" he demanded.
"Yes," I said, hoping I sounded convincing.
"When you said he was looking for a job, I pictured a male version of you. I figured he'd want to color code the cups or something."
"What's your point?" I asked.
Trey shook his head. "My point is that you'd better keep looking. I was just back there and overheard him talking with my manager. She was explaining the cleanup he would have to do each night. Then he said something about his hands and manual labor. — Richelle Mead

They go in a vase. On the nighstand by your bed. Or on the kitchen table. Or on the coffee table in the living room. They go where you can see them most often, and, seeing them, remember that you deserve flowers. — Faith Hunter

The campus police officer folded his hands and stared at me from across the table. "Coffee?" "What flavor is it?" I asked. He was in his forties, a big, solid man with bags under his calm, wary eyes, and his name tag read dean. "It's coffee-flavored coffee." "No mocha?" "Fuck mocha." "Thank God," I said. "Black. — Jim Butcher

The room was lit with small reading lamps and there were books everywhere: piled on the coffee table, under the coffee table, on the sofa and under it, too. Books were stacked up the stairs and through the hall. Fern could see a small forest of books in the kitchen, books stacked on the table, the counters, like dishes in the the dish rack. Books lined every wall so that you couldn't see the walls at all. In fact, a mirror had been hung over the books as if the wall were made of books. And the oil paintings, which hung over the stacked books, depicted books. — N.E. Bode

The clock holds me nowhere. Nowhere. Nowhere. There is nothing else but now and the shifting depth of the night. I sit at a table alone smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee and listening and surviving. I should not be here or anywhere. I should not be breathing or taking space. I should not have been given this moment or anything else. I should not have this opportunity again to live. I do not deserve it or deserve anything yet it is here and I am here and I Have it all of it still. I won't have it again. This moment or this chance they are the same and they are mine if I choose them and I do. I want them. Now and as long as I can have them they are both precious and fleeting and gone in the blink of an eye don't waste them. A moment and an opportunity and a life, all in the unseen tick of a clock holding me nowhere. My heart is beating. The walls are pale and quiet. I am surviving. — James Frey

But he said to his wife, sitting next to him on the couch in the TV room, that rarely had he seen a funeral at which it seemed like almost nobody in attendance had any idea why they were there. His wife, who had heard things like this from him before, reminded him of a ceremony he had presided over only a few months ago about which he had had the same reaction. 'Oh right,' the minister said. 'Yes. That one was much worse.' He leaned down to the coffee table and picked up the remote. — Mark Wallace

I looked to the sitting room then and gaped at Alec's body lying across my sofa making it look smaller than it was. He was reading something.
A book.
"What are you readin'?" I curiously asked.
"That porn book we were talking about earlier at my house. This dude is my God! He just fucked this Ana chick while she was on her period."
"Stop it!" I screeched. "Stop readin' and put the bloody book down!"
He was reading Fifty Shades of Grey.
I was both horrified and mortified.
Alec got up from the sofa, placed the book on the coffee table and turned in my direction.
"Why are you blushing?"
Him noticing my embarrassment only caused my already red cheeks to heat up even more.
"Oh damn, your cheeks are so flushed," Alec said and took a step towards me. — L.A. Casey

Where do you think the money went?" he repeated.
"Guns?" asked Jesper.
"Ships?" queried Inej.
"Bombs?" suggested Wylan.
"Political bribes?" offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. "This is where you tell us how awful we are," she whispered.
He shrugged. "They all seem like practical choices."
"Sugar," said Kaz.
Jesper nudged the sugar bowl down the table to him.
Kaz rolled his eyes. "Not for my coffee, you podge. I used the money to buy up sugar shares and placed them in private accounts for all of us - under aliases, of course."
"I don't like speculation," said Matthias.
"Of course you don't. You like things you can see. Like piles of snow and benevolent tree gods."
"Oh, there it is!" said Inej, resting her head on Nina's shoulder and beaming at Matthias. "I missed his glower. — Leigh Bardugo

But now, sitting on this airplane on my way back to the life I went on to fashion after she left, I think of her differently. I see her so many ways: sitting back on her heels at the side of the bathtub, singing softly as she washes Sharla and my backs; watching at the window for the six o'clock arrival of our father; wrapping Christmas presents on the wide expanse of her bed; biting her lip as she stood before the open cupboards, making out the grocery list; leaning out the kitchen window that last summer to call Sharla and me in for supper. Most clearly, though, I see her sitting at the kitchen table, in her old, usual spot. There is a cup of coffee before her, but she doesn't drink it. Instead, she stares out the window. I see the sharp angle of her cheekbone, the beautiful whitish down at the side of face, illuminated by the sun. Her hands are quiet, resting in the cloth bowl of her apron. She sits still as a statue - waiting, I can see now; she was always waiting. -What We Keep — Elizabeth Berg

You have no right to run me out of here!"

"Yes, I do, because it's my house. I live here now."

He could have dropped his pants and taken a shit on the coffee table and it wouldn't have shocked her as much as that revelation.

"What? — Tymber Dalton

Gansey took a drink of his healing tea. Maura's chin jutted as she observed the lump of it heading down his throat. His face remained precisely the same and he said absolutely nothing, but after a moment, he made a gentle fist of his hand and thumped his breastbone. "What did you say that was good for?" he asked politely. His voice was a little odd until he cleared his throat. "General wellness," Maura said. "Also, it's supposed to manage dreams." "My dreams?" he asked. Maura raised a very knowing eyebrow. "Who else's would you be managing?" "Mm." "Also, it helps with legal matters." Gansey had been swallowing as much of his fancy coffee as he could possibly manage without breathing, but he stopped and put the bottle on the table with a clink. "Do I need help with legal matters?" Maura shrugged. "Ask a psychic. — Maggie Stiefvater

Sergey Brin has said to me, like, 10 times now, 'Why do you bother doing books? Why don't you just put all this stuff on the Internet?' It's because 10 years from now, my book will still be sitting on someone's coffee table or in a waiting room. — Rick Smolan

Today is your big moment. Moments, really. The life you've been waiting for is happening all around you. The scene unfolding right outside your window is worth more than the most beautiful painting, and the crackers and peanut butter that you're having for lunch on the coffee table are as profound, in their own way, as the Last Supper. This is it. This is life in all its glory, swirling and unfolding around us, disguised as pedantic, pedestrian non-events. But pull off the mask and you will find your life, waiting to be made, chosen, woven, crafted. -Cold Tangerines — Shauna Niequist

Few people read coffee-table photo books, and indeed they are not intended to be read. I find the text in these books is often surprisingly good, perhaps because the author
or more importantly, the editor
feels no need to pander. — Tyler Cowen

That's all very well as an abstract moral principle, Avril, a coffee-table theoretical construct, but there's no denying the sheer gratuitous pleasure to be derived from seeing members of the ruling class in pain and torment. — Irvine Welsh

You know what I'm doing right now?" I say, watching the muddy liquid rush toward the edge of the table. "I'm thinking: Oh no! The coffee's going to spill onto the floor! I'm so worried! Let's keep talking about it!" And then the coffee waterfalls over the side of the desk, splashing on Andreas's shoes and pooling on the ground beneath the desk. "Oh, look at that," I say. "It happened anyway." * — Ben H. Winters

Among the numerous luxuries of the table ... coffee may be considered as one of the most valuable. It excites cheerfulness without intoxication; and the pleasing flow of spirits which it occasions ... is never followed by sadness, languor or debility. — Benjamin Franklin

You need to understand something, Krissy," he began, taking careful steps towards me. "Whenever I drop the words 'gonna shower', it means, we're gonna shower. I expect to see you sliding the doors open and stepping in under that shower with me, no more than a minute later. Aroused, eager, and impatient to be fucked under the spraying shower and against the tiles."

When he reached me, he took the cup of coffee still suspended mid-air from my hand and set it down on the table. Then he bent and slid one arm beneath my thighs, the other around my waist, and lifted my inert body up off the chair. "If I don't want you to join me, I won't tell you I'm gonna shower. 'Cause, then, what would be the fucking point? — S. Ann Cole

Kenji turns to look at me. He manages a goofy smile. "Aw, you trust me?"
"As long as I have a clear shot." I tighten my hold on the gun in my hand.
His grin is crooked. "I don't know why, but I kind of like it when you threaten me."
"That's because you're an idiot."
"Nah." he shakes his head. "You've got a sexy voice. Makes everything sound naughty."
Adam stands up so suddenly he nearly knocks over the coffee table. — Tahereh Mafi

I'm always working on a few different stories at once, so there's always some really big coffee table book I'm carrying around. — Mo Rocca

How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself. — Virginia Woolf

You adopted him," I said when Romeo sat on the coffee table in front of me.
"You love him," he said simply. Like that was all he needed to know.
"But you'll have to take care of him. Feed him. Give him water. Change the litter box."
"Thought maybe you'd want to help."
I looked up. Our eyes locked.
"What if I say no?" I asked. "What happens to Murphy then?"
He shrugged. "He's a cook cat. I'll keep him. He can watch football with me on Sundays."
I couldn't help but smile at the image that cast in my head.
"You'd really do that?" I whispered.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yes." Then his stoic eyes turned playful and his smile came out. "You wanna watch football with me on Sundays too?"
- Rimmel & Romeo — Cambria Hebert

We sat opposite each other across a table that swam with spilled coffee, warming our hands on our drinks. — S.J. Watson

Tachi's galley had a full kitchen and a table with room for twelve. It also had a full-size coffeepot that could brew forty cups of coffee in less than five minutes whether the ship was in zero g or under a five-g burn. Holden said a silent prayer of thanks for bloated military budgets and pressed the brew button. He had to restrain himself from stroking the stainless steel cover while it made gentle percolating noises. — James S.A. Corey

She looked up over Pony's shoulder and saw Noel, and Noel saw her - and he strode straight through the basement, over the love seat and up onto the coffee table and over the couch and through Pony and Simini, and wrapped his arms around Mags, swinging her in a circle. (Midnights) — Rainbow Rowell

I have a cartoon I'm developing with Adult Swim called 'Monster Town U.S.A.,' so I'm busy doing that. Trying to do a coffee-table book of my photography that's been requested of me a couple of times. I'm constantly busy. — Norman Reedus

She dampened her lips. "I . . . I have defenses you don't know of, and" - she gestured to the half wall revealing the kitchen beyond - "I have pepper spray in the kitchen."
"Pepper spray in the kitchen," he said tonelessly.
"All right, all right!" She dropped the bag with the box on a coffee table that held a few large picture books on the Old West and hurried into the kitchen, coming back with the pepper spray, which she stuck on a bookcase shelf next to the door. He took it down and checked the expiration date. "You should have tossed this two years ago. — Robin D. Owens

My mom was sitting at the kitchen table. She'd set her coffee down, making a noise that made me look her way. I'd begun to notice her less and less often, like her colors were fading and blending in with walls. She was shrinking. Or maybe her sphere of influence in the family was shrinking. My dad glanced at her, too, and then wrote something on a napkin.
He slid it across the counter to me - Don't worry. Come home in one piece. Have fun and act like a sixteen-year-old for a change. — Laura Anderson Kurk

After they were both done, the pile of knives and guns on the coffee table looked like they'd cleaned out an armory. I think we have a problem, Dmitri. — Nalini Singh

Countermovements among racists and sexists and nazifiers are just as relentless as dirt on a coffee table ... Every housewife knows that if you don't sooner or later dust ... the whole place will be dirty again. — Florynce Kennedy

I went to say no, but I winced as I pulled my tooth out of my lip.
I was absolutely hopeless. In a two minute period my front curls had
started to go straight due to my constant brushing them behind my ears
and I was pretty sure my lip was bleeding. Frustrated I pushed myself off of
the couch with a huff and walked around the glass coffee table to head for
the kitchen.
"I've made you angry."
"No."
Darren got up and cut me off in the middle of the room. "Yes, I did.
You're angry with me."
"No, not with you."
"Then what's wrong?"
"I'm angry with myself. — Kaitlin Scott

About the Wi-Fi. Are you blind? Can you read, at all?" He points to a notice in the corner of the coffee shop, which is all about the Starbucks Wi-Fi code. Then he focuses on my dark glasses. "Are you blind? Or just subnormal?" "I'm not blind," I say, my voice trembling. "I was just asking. Sorry to bother you." "Fucking moron," he mutters as he starts tapping again. Tears are welling in my eyes, and as I back away, my legs are wobbly. But my chin is high. I'm determined I'm not going to dissolve. As I get back to the table, I force a kind of rictus grin onto my face. "I did it! — Sophie Kinsella

I must say, some are not very beautifully made. They're coffee-table books for people who drink alcohol. I have nothing against coffee-table books as long as they are well done. They must not look like gravestones on a table. Sometimes they are too big, they come in boxes and things like this. No, a book has to be easy to open and you don't have to be a bodybuilder to lift it. I like books I can read in bed. Those big tombstones would kill me. — Karl Lagerfeld

What are you thinking? Sandwiches?" Finn asked in a hopeful voice. "No. I'm in the mood for something sweet." I grabbed the butter out of the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. Flour, oats, dried apricots, golden raisins, brown sugar, vanilla. I pulled them out, along with some mixing cups, a baking pan, a spatula, and a bowl. Finn settled himself at the kitchen table and drank his coffee while I worked. By the time Jo-Jo walked back into the kitchen, I was sliding the batter into the oven. "Whatcha making?" the dwarf asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Apricot bars, — Jennifer Estep

Good morning, sunshine," he said, his smile quickly disappearing in the face of her murderous glance when she raised her face to look at him.

"Shut up and die, morning person. Coffee," she mumbled.

Right. Note to self. Mate was not a morning person. He poured a cup of coffee and placed it on the table near her hand along with the sweetener and cream. He watched as she poured three packets of Equal into the coffee with her forehead still on the table. He looked on in amazement as she felt around and unscrewed the cap to the cream before dousing the dark liquid. She stirred for a second before dragging the cup to her lips. After a few sips she was able to lift her head. By the time she had finished half a cup she was sitting upright. When she finished the cup, her eyes were open and she was looking around.

"You need to be a coffee commercial," Connor said, staring at his mate. — Alanea Alder

I don't always see humor in things. Especially when I smash my pinky toe into a coffee table leg in the middle of the night. But sometimes I'll see things, or experience things, that make me go, "Huh, maybe that's a bit." — Brian Regan

That Chippendale is a coffee table, Lieutenant, not a footstool."
"How do you walk with that stick up your ass?" She left her feet where they were, propped comfortably on the table. "Does it hurt, or does it give you a nice little rush?"
"Your dinner guests," he said, curling his lip, "have arrived."
"Thank you, Summerset." Roarke got to his feet. "We'll have the hors d'oeuvres in here." He held out a hand to Eve.
She waited, deliberately, until Summerset had stepped out again before swinging her feet to the floor.
"In the interest of good fellowship," Roarke began as they started toward the foyer, "could you not mention the stick in Summerset's ass for the rest of the evening?"
"Okay. If he rags on me I'll just pull it out and beat him over the head with it."
"That should be entertaining. — J.D. Robb

Please don't worry. It's a psychological complaint, common amongst ex-librarians. You see, she thinks she's a coffee table edition ... — Alan Moore

Sugar," said Kaz.
Jesper nudged the sugar bowl down the table to him.
Kaz rolled his eyes. "Not for my coffee, you podge. — Leigh Bardugo

The men selected bottles of Moosehead beer and ranged themselves on plush leather chairs while Grosevoir busied himself in the bedroom. An overhead projector was set up on a cut-glass coffee table. — Patrick Lestewka

I've met Bob Dylan's bodyguards, and if Steve Earle thinks he can stand on Bob Dylan's coffee table, he's sadly mistaken, — Townes Van Zandt

So what'd we miss?" Jade pulled a chair from the next table and wedged it between Kale and Dax.
"We were just about to vote you off the island," I said, stirring my coffee.
"You've got my vote," Kiernan said enthusiastically, glaring at Jade. — Jus Accardo

The problem with being an alpha is that you can never make the first move.
Makes you feel like you're taking advantage of your position. You have to wait until
the other person decides they want in."
Jim set the basket on the coffee table and crouched by me.
"And sometimes it seems like that person likes you, and you try to test the waters,
so you try to tell her how you feel, that she matters and that you want to be with her
and you're concerned about her safety. And every time you do that, she waves her
arms around and accuses you of being a controlling alpha asshole. So you back off
and hope you didn't completely fuck it up."
He was close, too close. I just stared at him. What was happening ... "Why are
you telling me this?"
His voice was low and smooth. "That time when I told you it didn't matter what
your mother thought about your looks ... "
"Aha ... "
"I meant it," he said. "Because I think you're beautiful. — Ilona Andrews

You'll find my leg under the coffee table. — John Green

And for almost four hours they sat at the opposite ends of the couch, the portable phonograph on the coffee table before them, their faces lit with silent and sorrowful fascination, listening as the music of a dead world filled the summer night. — Stephen King

I stepped out of the shower and dried my hair, rubbed on body lotion, cleaned my ears. Then to the kitchen to heat up the last of the coffee. Only to discover: no one sitting at the opposite side of the table. Staring at that chair where no one sat, I felt like a tiny child in a De Chirico painting, left behind all alone in a foreign country. — Haruki Murakami

I'm having my house repainted and we have a piano in the corner and the painter says, Is that y'all's piano? I said, No, that's our coffee table; it just has buck teeth. Here's Your Sign. — Jeff Foxworthy

Our age is very cheap and intelligible. Unroof any house, and you shall find it. The well-being consists in having a sufficiency of coffee and toast, with a daily newspaper; a well glazed parlor, with marbles, mirrors and centre-table; and the excitement of a few parties and a few rides in a year. — Ralph Waldo Emerson

When we rise in the morning ... at the table we drink coffee which is provided to us by a South American, or tea by a Chinese, or cocoa by a West African; before we leave for our jobs we are already beholden to more than half the world. — Martin Luther King Jr.

John," I murmured, rising from the bed and going to stand by the table, staring down in astonishment at the gold-rimmed china plates and intricately embroidered napkins in sapphire rings. "How did all of this get here?"
"Oh," he said casually. "It just does. Coffee?" He lifted a gleaming silver pot. "Or do I seem to remember you being more partial to tea?" His grin was wicked.
I gave him a sarcastic look-it was a cup of tea I'd thrown into his face to escape from the Underworld the last time-then sank down into the chair where the bird was perched. — Meg Cabot

We all share these wishes. But also the way we look for happiness and try to avoid discomfort is the same. Who among us does not enjoy a delicious meal? Who does not wish to sleep in a safe, comfortable bed? Author, monk - or stray kitten - we are all equal in that." Across the coffee table, the history professor shifted in his seat. "Most of all," the Dalai Lama said, leaning over and stroking me with his index finger, "all of us just want to be loved. — David Michie

Phury lit a blunt and eyed the sixteen cans of Aqua Net that were lined up on Butch and V's coffee table.
"What's doing with the hair spray? You boys going drag on us?"
Butch held up the lenght of PVC pipe he was punching a hole in.
"Potato launcher, my man. Big fun."
"Excuse me ?"
"Didn't you ever go to summer camp ?"
"Basket weaving and woodcarving are for humans. No offense, but we have better things to teach our youngs. — J.R. Ward

The entire planet can get along nicely now with maybe a dozen champion performers in each area of human giftedness. A moderately gifted person has to keep his or her gifts all bottled up until, in a manner of speaking, he or she gets drunk at a wedding and tap-dances on the coffee table like Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers. We have a name for him or her. We call him or her an exhibitionist. How do we reward such an exhibitionist? We say to him or her the next morning, Wow! Were you ever drunk last night! — Anonymous

Can I ask you why there was the imprint of an ass on great-grandma's table? I got up the other morning and come in here to have my coffee. I sat down and got ready to read the paper , when low and behold I was confronted with the imprint of an ass on the table. — Alex Morgan

That was what it meant, didn't it. Being good. You didn't have to sink wells in Burkina Faso. You didn't have to give away your coffee table. You just had to see things from other people's point of view. Remember they were human. — Mark Haddon

I always write back to people who are kind enough to write to me. Actually, I don't write - I recline on my red velvet sofa with my feet on the coffee table and dictate the letters to my eldest son. — Sue Townsend

Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can, And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran: Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea - And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three! — Lewis Carroll

Something else?" She huffed as she pushed from the table, grabbing her husband's empty coffee cup. "That's the nice way of saying they're bat shit crazy."
"Hey!" Mr Hamilton's head whipped around, eyes dancing. "You listen here, woman."
"You can listen to my foot up your ass if you call me woman again." Mrs Hamilton refilled the cup and reached for the sugar. "And you can take that to court."
Cam sighed and lowered his head.
I smothered my giggle with my hand. — J. Lynn

Then I should be able to say anything I want, right? Even the word 'penis'?"
Laney sighed. "Do we have to do this right now?"
You should try saying the word sometime."
I'll pass, thank you."
Payton shrugged. "Your choice, but I think you'd find it liberating. Everybody could use a good 'penis' now and then."
Laney glanced nervously around the coffee shop. "People are listening."
Sorry - you're right. Good rule of thumb: if you're gonna throw out a 'penis' in a public place, it should be soft. Otherwise it attracts too much attention."
The woman at the next table gaped at them. — Julie James

Jump to how life was when you were a baby and you could only eat baby food. You'd stagger over to the coffee table. You're up on your feet and you have to keep waddling along on those Vienna sausage legs or fall down. Then you get to the coffee table and bounce your big soft baby head on the sharp corner. You're down, and man, oh, man, it hurts. Still it isn't anything tragic until Mom and Dad run over. Oh, you poor, brave thing. Only then do you cry. — Chuck Palahniuk