Sipped Coffee Quotes & Sayings

He knew he could never jingle change in his pocket or park his car like a confident adult, he was the Adrian he had always been, casting a guilty look over a furtive shoulder, living in eternal dread of a grown-up striding forward to clip his ear.
But there again, when he sipped at the whiskey his eyes failed to water and his throat forgot to burn. The body shamelessly welcomed what once it would have rejected. At breakfast he demanded not Ricicles and chocolate spread, but coffee and unbuttered toast. And if the coffee was sugared he leapt from it like a colt from an electric fence. He ate the crust and left the filling, guzzled the olives and spurned the cherries. Yet inside he remained the same Adrian who fought down the urge to stand and shout 'Bullocks' during church services, smelt his own farts and wasted hours skimming through National Geographic on the off-chance of seeing a few naked bodies. — Stephen Fry

I sipped my own coffee, heavy on the sugar and cream, trying to make up for the late work the night before. Caffeine and sugar, the two basic food groups. — Laurell K. Hamilton

Gabe rose from the table and paced the kitchen, his energy nearly building to a level he couldn't contain beneath the Veil. He expended energy into his coffee he held - heating, cooling, and reheating it between his hands. The two of them paced, talked, and sipped at coffee thinking of ways to outsmart the oldest liar on Earth. "Maybe — H.G. Reed

It's always a pleasure watching you wake up," he commented. "But sometimes I wonder if you want me only for my coffee."
"Well ... " She grinned at him and sipped again. "I really like the food, too. And the sex isn't bad. — J.D. Robb

What're you doin' up so early?"
"Says the rancher," [Lainie] replied dryly.
"Funny. Maybe me 'n' Kyle had plans for this morning." [Hank] waggled his eyebrows.
"Maybe you and Kyle should've gotten up sooner." She sipped her coffee. "The early cowboy gets to stick his worm in the cowgirl and all that. — Lorelei James

You taste like the last drop of whiskey
at 3 am
after a lousy day
like the first gulp of coffee on a Monday sipped behind a desk
hot and bitter
like the burning at the back of the throat
after the first cigarette
You taste, boy oh boy, like my next mistake. — Malak El Halabi

He Sipped his coffee, watched the flames. "You gave me my life, you did," He insisted when Summerset made a protesting sound. "And I worked-in my fashion- to build this place. I asked you to tend it for me. You've never let me down. But I needed her. The one thing, the only thing that could make this place home."
"She's not what I would have chosen for you"
"Oh, that I know"
"But she's right for you. The one for you." Despite, or maybe due to, her many flaws"
"I imagine she thinks the same thing about you".
Memory in Death, Roarke and Summerset — J.D. Robb

Eva sipped her coffee. Today, her hair was bound back in a singular knot, the sides rolled in smooth twists, the knot itself in the shape of the figure eight, which Delphine knew was the ancient sign for eternity. Eva rose and turned away, walked across the green squares of linoleum to punch some risen dough and cover it with towels. As Delphine watched, into her head there popped a strange notion: the idea that perhaps strongly experienced moments, as when Eva turned and the sun met her hair and for that one instant the symbol blazed out, those particular moments were eternal. Those moments actually went somewhere. Into a file of moments that existed out of time's range.. — Louise Erdrich

Amos sipped his coffee. The faraway look on his face reminded me of my dad. "I don't want to scare you."
"Too late. — Rick Riordan

Myron sipped his coffee. Gourmet coffee. A year ago he never drank coffee. Then he started stopping into one of the new coffee bars that kept cropping up like bad movies on cable. — Harlan Coben

At the railroad station he noted that he still had thirty minutes. He quickly recalled that in a cafe on the Calle Brazil (a few dozen feet from Yrigoyen's house) there was an enormous cat which allowed itself to be caressed as if it were a disdainful divinity. He entered the cafe. There was the cat, asleep. He ordered a cup of coffee, slowly stirred the sugar, sipped it (this pleasure had been denied him in the clinic), and thought, as he smoothed the cat's black coat, that this contact was an illusion and that the two beings, man and cat, were as good as separated by a glass, for man lives in time, in succession, while the magical animal lives in the present, in the eternity of the instant. — Jorge Luis Borges

There had been no real coffee in Copenhagen since the beginning of the Nazi occupation. Not even any real tea. The mothers sipped at hot water flavored with herbs. "Annemarie, — Lois Lowry

Simon sipped at his coffee. "Everything in life is a hallucination," he said simply. "Everything in death, too," he added. "The universe is just putting us on. Handing us a line. — Robert Shea

I thought you didn't drink coffee," I said to Ranger. "What about your body being a temple?"
He sipped at the coffee. "It's my disguise. It goes with the haircut."
"Will you let your hair grow back?"
"Probably."
"And then you'll stop drinking coffee?"
"You ask a lot of questions," Ranger said.
"Just trying to figure this out. — Janet Evanovich

Her laugh was great. I wanted to look at her nameplate over her shirt pocket. But I didn't want her to think I was looking at her breasts. I remembered them resting on the edge of the table when she took my photograph. I looked. Nice breasts. Her name was Roscoe. She glanced around quickly and moved closer to the bars. I sipped coffee. — Lee Child

His face. Fenton was never one to like a slow day. The look was enough to tell Barnaby that something big had just come down. "Hutch?" "Hmmm?" Fenton went on, breathlessly. "The Broadbent place was robbed. I got one of the sons on the phone now." Hutch Barnaby didn't move a muscle. "Robbed of what?" "Everything." Fenton's black eyes glittered with relish. Barnaby sipped his coffee, sipped again, and then lowered his chair to the floor with a small clunk. Damn. As Barnaby and Fenton drove out the Old Santa Fe Trail, Fenton talked about the robbery. The collection, he'd heard, was worth half a billion. If the truth were anything close to that, Fenton said, it would be front-page-New-York-Times. He, Fenton, on the front page of the Times. Can you imagine — Douglas Preston

I was always eh, kinda want to like consider myself kind of a pioneer of the palette, a restaurateur if you will. I've wined, dined, sipped and supped in some of the most demonstrably beamer epitomable bistros in the Los Angles metropolitan region. Yeah, I've had strange looking patty melts at Norms. I've had dangerous veal cutlets at the Copper Penny. Well what you get is a breaded salsbury steak in a shake-n-bake and topped with a provocative sauce of Velveeta and uh, half-n-half. Smothered with Campbell's tomato soup. See I have kinda of a uh ... well I order my veal cutlet, Christ it left the plate and it walked down to the end of the counter. Waitress, ? she's wearing those rhinestone glasses with the little pearl thing clipped on the sweater. My veal cutlet come down, tried to beat the shit out of my cup of coffee. Coffee just wasn't strong enough to defend itself. — Tom Waits

But when Mr. Stein sipped his hot coffee and watched Kat drink hers, he smiled the way he might if he saw a replica of his favorite childhood toy in a shop window - happy that something he loved wasn't entirely gone from the world. — Ally Carter

How 'bout some coffee?" Jake said as he hurried over to the coffee pot on the stove and filled a mug with the remainder of the steaming brew. When he got to the table with it, however, he stopped and looked helplessly from Lucinda to Elizabeth, obviously not certain who ought properly to be served first.
"Coffee," Lucinda informed him dampeningly when he took a step toward her, "is a heathen brew, unfit for civilized people. I prefer tea."
"I'll have coffee," Elizabeth said hastily. Jake flashed her a grateful smile, put the mug before her, then returned to the stove. Rather than look at Ian, Elizabeth stared, as if fascinated, at Jake Wiley's back while she sipped her coffee. — Judith McNaught

I cleaned the shit off my pink high-tops and drove home, stopping for an espresso at the coffeehouse across from the college. Men and women were hunched over copies of Jean Paul Sartre and writing in their journals. Most wore the thin-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses favored by intellectuals. Their clothes were faded to a precisely fashionable degree; you can buy them that way from catalogs now, new clothes processed to look old. The intellectuals looked at me in my overalls the way such people inevitably look at farmers.
I dumped a lot of sugar in my espresso and sipped it delicately at a corner table near the door. I looked at them the way farmers look at intellectuals. — Mary Rose O'Reilley

Thirty- eight years old and he was finished. He sipped at the coffee and remembered where he had gone wrong
or right. He'd simply gotten tired
of the insurance game, of the small offices and high glass partitions, the clients; he'd simply gotten tired of cheating on his wife, of squeezing secretaries in the elevator and in the halls;
he'd gotten tired of Christmas parties and New Year's parties and birthdays, and payments on new cars and furniture payments
light, gas, water
the whole bleeding complex of necessities.
He'd gotten tired and quit, that's all. The divorce came soon enough and the drinking came soon enough, and suddenly he was out of it. He had nothing, and he found out that having nothing was difficult too. It was another type of burden. If only there were some gentler road in between. It seemed a man only had two choices
get in on the hustle or be a bum. — Charles Bukowski

The initial shock isn't as hard as the weeks that follow." He sipped his coffee as Zach lifted his head. "Right now you still think he'll walk through the door. That he'll have something to say. But you know he's gone. Then you'll go through the arrangements, the funeral, and those who will come to pay their respects," he continued. "Then next week you'll pick up the phone to call him and he won't be there. — Bernadette Marie

Amos sipped his coffee. "Sorry if that distubed you. Khufu's very picky. He only eats foods that end in -o. Doritos, burritos, flamingos."
I blinked. "Did you say-"
"Carter," Sadie warned. She looked a little queasy, like she'd already had this conversation. "Don't ask. — Rick Riordan

She sipped her coffee and brandy, which would have grown hair on a Chihuahua. There — Ursula K. Le Guin

I sipped the coffee and lit a cigarette. I can't say that I enjoyed the taste of coffee or the feeling of smoke descending into my lungs, I could barely distinguish the two, the point was to do it, it was a routine, and as with all routines, protocol was everything. — Karl Ove Knausgard

He'd just poured himself a hot cup of coffee, his mouth already watering as he brought the mug to his
lips.
"Oh, thanks, sweetie." And like that, the cup was gone.
He glared down at the female who dared take his coffee. The life-giving elixir was his! Then he noticed
she was fully dressed.
"You're leaving?" Damn. And he really did have plans for that adorable little ass.
"Oh, yeah." She sipped the coffee and grimaced. "Geez. Battery acid." It suddenly occurred to
him ... She was perky. Who was perky at five-thirty in the morning?
Good Lord!Morning people were perky at five-thirty in the morning! — Shelly Laurenston

There was a special Nolan idea about the coffee. It was their one great luxury. Mama made a big potful each morning and reheated it for dinner and supper and it got stronger as the day wore on. It was an awful lot of water and very little coffee but mama put a lump of chicory in it which made it taste strong and bitter. Each one was allowed three cups a day with milk. Other times you could help yourself to a cup of black coffee anytime you felt like it. Sometimes when you had nothing at all and it was raining and you were alone in the flat, it was wonderful to know that you could have something even though it was only a cup of black and bitter coffee.
Neeley and Francie loved coffee but seldom drank it. Today, as usual, Neeley let his coffee stand black and ate his condensed milk spread on bread. He sipped a little of the black coffee for the sake of formality. Mama poured out Francie's coffee and put the milk in it even though she knew that the child wouldn't drink it. — Betty Smith

If he had any kind of a clue, he wouldn't be caught dead with that stuff. See what I did there? Caught dead? I crack myself up. Eve sipped more coffee she probably, at this point, didn't need. — Rachel Caine

After I got my coffee, I leaned against a stop sign and sipped, pretending it was a normal day and I was only up this early so that I could go running and not because I'd just been on a killing spree. — Augusten Burroughs

Vance took the news of their "big-city fellows" status better than Philip. Probably because it turned out that he was actually gay.
"You're what?"
"Well, I'm not entirely sure," said Vance, "but I'd say it's seventy-thirty for it."
"But I've seen you with women."
"That would be the thirty part of the equation," said Vance as he sipped his coffee.
"Oh my God. That's why you agreed to do this with me. You think I'm gay, too!"
Vance chuckled. "Dude you're not gay."
"I know I'm not, but do you know I'm not?"
"I'd say ninety-two-eight on the straight side," said Vance.
"How the hell-"
"They've made some terrific advances in gaydar, dude. — A. Lee Martinez

His dark eyes were hot.

"Drink the coffee," he growled.

Coffee. Right. She had to hold the cup with both hands, otherwise she'd spill the hot coffee all over herself and all over this beautiful bed. She tipped her head back against the headboard and sipped.

God, it was delicious. Sharp, yet with a smooth smoky taste. Some outrageously expensive blend, no doubt. She took another sip. Perfect.

His hand continued stroking her breast, movements lazy. "Good?" he asked.

"Wonderful."

"Give me a taste," he said suddenly, stretching over to cover her mouth with is. Oh lord, she could simply sink into his kisses. This one was long, languid, the strokes of his hand on her breast echoed by his tongue in her mouth. He lifted his head for a second, then moved in more closely, tongue deeper in her mouth. He lifted his head again and smiled down at her. "It is delicious. — Lisa Marie Rice