Simmered Quotes & Sayings

How helpless we are, like netted birds, when we are caught by desire! — Belva Plain

No matter how logical you are, sometimes you just have to follow your heart to enjoy the mystery... — Ankit Rawat

Gradually the live TV scene simmered out, replaced by film, and that took place in L.A. So many actors left New York. — William Shatner

Dinner that night is a feast of flavor. To celebrate the successful exorcism, Kagura has cooked several more dishes than the shrine's usual, simple fare- fragrant onigiri, balls of rice soaked in green tea, with umeboshi- salty and pickled plums- as filling. There is eggplant simmered in clear soup, green beans in sesame sause, and burdock in sweet-and-sour dressing. The mood is festive. — Rin Chupeco

A stew of potatoes, kidney beans, and chopped greens and onions simmered atop the small cast-iron range. The appetizing scent filled the cottage and drifted out the open windows. Remembering the many times she had made the dish for her father, Victoria smiled wistfully. Her father had never been a great lover of food, regarding it solely as a necessity for the body rather than something to be enjoyed. On the rare occasions when Victoria had made plum pudding, or brought currant buns from the bakery, he had nibbled at the treats and quickly lost interest. The only times she had ever seen him eat heartily, and with obvious enjoyment, was when she had made vegetable stew. — Lisa Kleypas

Healthcare providers will compete to offer the best record of patient safety at the lowest prices. Hospitals and patients will benefit from having accurate information about areas of excellence and areas that must be improved. — Timothy Murphy

She fluttered her fan. "And do you know what they say of women of a certain age, what they want above all?"
Desire simmered in him at her not quite smile. "Do tell."
"To be rid of you, Hastings. So that they don't have to waste what remains of their precious few years suffering your lecherous looks."
"If I stopped looking at you lecherously, you'd miss it."
"Why don't we test that hypothesis? You stop and I'll tell you after ten years or so whether I miss it."
...
He rose and bowed slightly. "You wouldn't last two weeks, Miss Fitzhugh. — Sherry Thomas

For supper Jill cooks a filet of sole, lemony, light, simmered in sunshine, skin flaky brown; Nelson gets a hamburger with wheatgerm sprinkled on it to remind him of a Nutburger. Wheatgerm, zucchini, water chestnuts, celery salt, Familia: these are some of the exotic items Jill's shopping brings into the house. Her cooking tastes to him of things he never had: candlelight, saltwater, health fads, wealth, class. — John Updike

The banquet proceeded. The first course, a mince of olives, shrimp and onions baked in oyster shells with cheese and parsley was followed by a soup of tunny, cockles and winkles simmered in white wine with leeks and dill. Then, in order, came a service of broiled quail stuffed with morels, served on slices of good white bread, with side dishes of green peas; artichokes cooked in wine and butter, with a salad of garden greens; then tripes and sausages with pickled cabbage; then a noble saddle of venison glazed with cherry sauce and served with barley first simmered in broth, then fried with garlic and sage; then honey-cakes, nuts and oranges; and all the while the goblets flowed full with noble Voluspa and San Sue from Watershade, along with the tart green muscat wine of Dascinet. — Jack Vance

She strode across the McGraney boundary without a backward glance, legs cutting twin swatches in the green-black grass. Dawn sunlight simmered on the tip of each blade, and Holly's passage set a surging ripple of light flashing across the meadow.
Extraordinary, thought Artemis. What have I lost? — Eoin Colfer

In discovering books, you became free to explore the full range of human motives, desires, secrets, and lies. All my life, people have scolded me for having an excess of feeling, saying that I was too sensitive - as if one could be in danger from feeling too much instead of too little. But my outsize emotions were well represented in books. [] there simmered all the feelings no one ever admits to. — Betsy Lerner

We also knew we definitely wanted to infuse into the narrative the relation of women at different ages with motherhood, their relationship with their babies versus their partners', their overall "need" to have children, their fears and projections on their children, etc. All of this we put into a pot, if you will, and simmered for a while until we had what made sense to us. — Rania Attieh

Great meals rarely start at points that all look like beginnings. They usually pick up where something else leaves off. This is how most of the best things are made - imagine if the world had to begin from scratch each dawn: a tree would never grow, nor would we ever get to see the etchings of gentle rings on a clamshell ... Meals' ingredients must be allowed to topple into one another like dominos. Broccoli stems, their florets perfectly boiled in salty water, must be simmered with olive oil and eaten with shaved Parmesan on toast; their leftover cooking liquid kept for the base for soup, studded with other vegetables, drizzled with good olive oil, with the rind of the Parmesan added for heartiness. This continuity is the heart and soul of cooking. — Tamar Adler

I wonder how long they'll keep me here? Forever, I hope. Until I get cured. I hope they won't cure me; I vow I won't be cured. It's a great deal too pleasant to be mad, and I'll stay so. — E.D.E.N. Southworth

The pot that had simmered for fifty years boiled over. Colliers and miners, furnacemen and tram-road labourers were flooding down the valley to the Chartists' rendezvous: men from Dowlais under the Guests, Cyfartha under the Crawshays, Nantyglo under Bailey and a thousand forges and bloomeries in the hills: men of the farming Welsh, the Staffordshire specialists and the labouring Irish were taking to arms. — Alexander Cordell

On clear days we trudged through White Forest, a man-made woods of metal trees and plastic leaves constructed in the boon years of Brezhnev when the party boss's wife had grown nostalgic for the birches of her youth. By the time we trudged beneath them, however, the years had ravaged both the forest and the party boss's wife, and the plastic leaves above were as sagging and liver-spotted as her face. We went on. The mud was a mustard we plodded through. On the forest's far side we looked across the expanse of sulfurous waste stretching to the horizon. We shouted. We proclaimed. We didn't need to whisper out here. For a few short weeks in July, red wildflowers pushed through the oxidized waste and the whole earth simmered with apocalyptic beauty. — Anthony Marra

Lewis had said that there is no creativity de novo in us - that we are all sub-creators pirating and rearranging portions of reality. I agreed. But it was only an idea. And then it took on flesh. I began to see the world more like a cook than a writer. There were boundless ingredients out there, combinations waiting to be discovered and simmered and served. There were truths and stories and characters and quirks that could clash badly, and some that could marry and birth sequels. I began to feel a lot more comfortable. It wasn't all on me to create. It was on me to find. To catch. To arrange. — N.D. Wilson

In the pre-war era when itinerant home-remedy salesmen still wandered the country, they had a traditional patter for selling a potion that was supposed to be particularly effective in treating burns and cuts. A toad with four legs in front and six behind would be placed in a box with mirrors lining the four walls. The toad, amazed at its own appearance from every angle, would break into an oily sweat. This sweat would be collected and simmered for 3,721 days while being stirred with a willow branch. The result was the marvelous potion.
When writing about myself, I feel something like that toad in the box. — Akira Kurosawa

In that August of 1957, however, the cloakroom was often crowded, with senators talking earnestly on sofas and standing in animated little groups, and sometimes the glances between various groups were not comradely at all - sometimes, in fact, they glinted with a barely concealed hostility, and the narrow room simmered with tension, for the main issue before the Senate that summer was civil rights, a proposed law intended to make voting easier for millions of black Americans — Robert A. Caro

Know what's going on."
Cam looked up in time to see both of his brothers' eyes focus on him. "Oh, come on. Why does it have
to be me?"
"You're the oldest." Phillip grinned at him. "Besides, it'll take your mind off Anna."
"I'm not brooding about her - or any woman."
"Been edgy and broody all week," Ethan mumbled. "Making me nuts."
"Who asked you? We had a little disagreement, that's all. I'm giving her time to simmer down."
"Seems to me she'd simmered down to frozen the last time I saw her." Phillip examined his beer. "That
was a week ago. — Nora Roberts

Ronan, tell me now if I have to leash you, because I will," Gansey said. Ronan immediately scoffed, but Gansey pointed at him. "I'm serious. This is not yours alone. If this is a tomb, someone has been buried here, and you're going to give that person respect. Do not. Make me. Ask you. Again. For that matter, if any of us thinks they won't be able to contain themselves going forward, I suggest we turn around and come back another day or the party in question waits out here." Ronan simmered. — Maggie Stiefvater

Photography is the most transparent of the art mediums devised or discovered by man. It is probably for this reason that it proves so difficult to make the photograph transcend its almost inevitable function as document and act as a work of art as well. — Clement Greenberg

Mental illness was a family secret. This patient had four children grow up in foster homes, and they never knew her. It was heart-wrenching for her granddaughter to find this out. — Sean Moran

He started to draw away but she wasn't ready. She held on, and after a heartbeat he slid his hands to her waist and pulled her closer. His kiss grew more fiercely determined, as though he would wipe every recollection of anything remotely resembling kisses from her mind and imprint his, permanently, upon it. And upon her body, where the alien feelings simmered into excitement and happiness and a yearning for more. Strange — Loretta Chase

It's genius simmering, perhaps. I'll let it simmer, and see what comes of it, he said, with a secret suspicion all the while that it wasn't genius, but something far more common. Whatever it was, it simmered to some purpose, for he grew more and more discontented with his desultory life, began to long for some real and earnest work to go at, soul and body, and finally came to the wise conclusion that everyone who loved music was not a composer. — Louisa May Alcott

Before I read the 'Bloody Sunday' script, I have to admit I hadn't thought about it that much. There was probably even part of me which assumed there was no smoke without fire. That the Catholics who were shot must have done something to provoke such a response from the army. I was extremely ignorant of the whole situation. — James Nesbitt

Secret codes and lore and lingo stretching back into that fluid time before air conditioning dried up the rich, heavy humidity that used to hang over the porches of Louisiana, drenching cotton blouses, beads of sweat tickling the skin, slowing people down so the world entered them in an unhurried way. A thick stew of life that seeped into the very blood of people, so eccentric, languid thoughts simmered inside. Thoughts that would not come again after porches were enclosed, after the climate was controlled, after all windows were shut tight, and the sounds of the neighborhood were drowned out by the noise of the television set. — Rebecca Wells

His blood simmered. She wasn't Miss Banks, she was Lady Benedict. And what did Samson mean she didn't wish to speak to him? Had she said that herself or had Lord Watson decided it for — Rose Gordon

All day the storm lasted. The windows were white and the wind never stopped howling and screaming. It was pleasant in the warm house. Laura and Mary did their lessons, then Pa played the fiddle while Ma rocked and knitted, and bean soup simmered on the stove.
All night the storm lasted, and all the next day. Fire-light danced out of the stove's draught, and Pa told stories and played the fiddle. — Laura Ingalls Wilder

When you're in bed to-night think not of wars,
But rather of the Panda fast asleep,
Her piebald head cushioned on woolly paws;
Or think of velvet mice that warmly creep

Into their holes to curl up round and soft.
Transfer your thoughts from bellicose affairs;
Though it be true that bombers fly aloft,
Try to reflect on little furry bears.

- Sleeping Mixture — Virginia Graham

The taste on her palate was pungent and rich, the flavor of woodlands and dark earth simmered in sunshine. — Alison Croggon

From the moment I leave my house or my hotel room, the public owns me. The public made Alice Cooper and I can't imagine ever turning my back on my fans. — Alice Cooper

Not all are called to the way of the sword or the gun or the ship, but all serve ka. — Stephen King

Quinces are ripe...when they are the yellow of canary wings in midflight. they are ripe when their scent teases you with the snap of green apples and the perfumed embrace of coral roses. but even then quinces remain a fruit, hard and obstinate--useless...until they are simmered, coddled for hours above a low, steady flame. add honey and water and watch their dry, bone-colored flesh soak-up the heat, coating itself in an opulent orange, not of the sunrises that you never see but of the insides of tree-ripened papayas, a color you can taste. to answer your questionlove is not a bowl of quinces yellowing in a blue and white china bowl, seen but untouched. ~The Book of Salt — Monique Truong

I enjoy encouraging and inspiring people to pursue their purpose in the arts. To help cultivate and develop their instrument. — Tasha Smith

Please look at me, Ava. — Jodi Ellen Malpas

She had large, questioning eyes that seemed to draw me in and a sense of quiet outrage that simmered just beneath the surface. More than anything, within her features, there was a streak of wild quirkiness that made her dazzlingly attractive. — Jasper Fforde

Adam returned his gaze to the cross. The Jesus was hurting. Guilt simmered and then boiled in him. Jesus had a whole world of suffering and horror to worry about and here Adam was in all his punk puniness. He didn't want to add to Jesus's burdens, but...

'Sorry about that. Look, I know you're busy and I don't want to get greedy with your time, but still, if you could just help me... If you could find a minute, please, please, please, dear sweet Jesus, fix me. — Teresa Toten

Dashi remains unfamiliar to most French and American cooks, who tend to reach for a bouillon cube to do many of the same things. But dashi is worth preparing and using the way the Japanese do: for poaching fish, as a soup base, and in simmered dishes. — Nobu Matsuhisa