Sips Quotes & Sayings

AWAY with funeral music - set
The pipe to powerful lips -
The cup of life's for him that drinks
And not for him that sips. — Robert Louis Stevenson

Every single pleasure I can imagine or have experienced is more delightful, more of a pleasure, if you take it in small sips, if you take your time. Reading is not an exception. — Amos Oz

I cling to the optimistic belief that the haphazard and the hopscotch, the creature that sips among many flowers, may actually come up with something ... — Brad Leithauser

So, Abe, how do you know what to listen to inside?"
"What do you mean?" Abe sips his tea
..."Well, how do you know if something is a good thing for you or a bad thing?"
..."Shit." Abe sighs. "That's a big question. You're looking at instinct like it's a foolproof system. Like it's a global positioning device."
"I thought that's why we have it. That's why animals have it. To protect."
"Sure, but it's a tool. Not THE tool, one tool. More like an old-fashioned map, not a GPS. You know, it's great to have a map, but there's the chance you can hold it upside down, read it wrong. Sometimes you just have to see where the road leads. — Deb Caletti

This must be love, she murmured, in between sips of water.
What's that? He sat behind her, cradling her in his arms.
You held my hair, Professor. You must love me.
He reached a tentative hand to her lower abdomen. I seem to recall you looking after me once, when I was sick. And that was before you loved me.
I always loved you, Gabriel.
Thank you. He kissed her forehead. We made this little one together. You aren't going to scare me off with bodily fluids.
I'll remember that when my water breaks. — Sylvain Reynard

In Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis argues that human beings cannot be truly good or moral without faith in God and without submis- sion to the will of Christ. Unfortunately, Lewis does not provide any actual data for his assertions. They are nothing more than the mild musings of a wealthy British man, pondering the state of humanity's soul between his sips of tea. Had Lewis actually famil- iarized himself with real human beings of the secular sort, per- haps sat and talked with them, he would have had to reconsider this notion. As so many apostates explained to me, morality is most certainly possible beyond the confines of faith. Can people be good without God? Can a moral orientation be sustained and developed outside of a religious context? The answer to both of these questions is a resounding yes. — Phil Zuckerman

Tis now the twenty-third of march,
And this warm sun takes out the starch
Of winter's pinafore -
Methinks The Very pasture gladly drinks
A health to spring, and while it sips
It faintly smacks a myriad lips. — Henry David Thoreau

There would be no grand absolution, only forgiveness meter out in these precious sips. I would well up from Hugh's heart in spoonfuls, and he would feed it to me. And it would be enough. — Sue Monk Kidd

Sips fuel like a mouse sipping sherry from a hypodermic needle. — Jeremy Clarkson

Connecting in sips may work for gathering discreet bits of information, they may work for saying, "I'm thinking about you," or even for saying, "I love you," but they don't really work for learning about each other, for really coming to know and understand each other. And we use conversations with each other to learn how to have conversations with ourselves. So a flight from conversation can really matter because it can compromise our capacity for self-reflection. For kids growing up, that skill is the bedrock of development. — Sherry Turkle

I wasn't one of those girls who got tiny hunger pangs when it was time to eat, then took a few sips of water, burped, wiped my mouth, and announced I was full. Hell, no. Carbs. Give. Me. Carbs. Give me protein. Give me chocolate and I'll be your best friend. — Rachel Van Dyken

She'd have to get used to him all over again, taking small sips of his beauty as if it was too hot a drink to swallow all at once. — Laini Taylor

My chief time for reading is at night while brushing my hair before I go to bed, and as you may suppose, but little profit and pleasure can be derived from such mere sips at the well of knowledge. 'Tis a great privation to me, for my desire for information increases instead of diminishing, and I look forward with great anxiety to the time when I can improve my poor neglected mind and learn some of the few exhaustless store of things which I wish to know. — Fanny Kemble

There was indeed a caste system in Maycomb, but to my mind it worked this way: the older citizens, the present generation of people who had lived side by side for years and years, were utterly predictable to one another: they took for granted attitudes, character
shadings, even gestures, as having been repeated in each generation and refined by time. Thus the dicta No Crawford Minds His Own Business, Every Third Merriweather Is Morbid, The Truth Is Not in the Delafields, All the Bufords Walk Like That, were simply guides to daily living: never take a check from a Delafield without a discreet call to the
bank; Miss Maudie Atkinson's shoulder stoops because she was a Buford; if Mrs. Grace Merriweather sips gin out of Lydia E. Pinkham bottles it's nothing unusual - her mother did the same. — Harper Lee

A grub in filth is dirty, but it changes into a cicada and sips dew in the autumn breeze. Rotting plants have no luster, but they turn into foxfire and glow in the summer moonlight. So we know that purity emerges from impurity, and light is born from darkness. — Zicheng Hong

You! You tricked me! I never want to see you or that bottle of liquid arsenic again!"
I chucked the empty moonshine jug at him. Or tried to. It missed him by a dozen feet.
He picked it up in astonishment. "You drank the whole bloody thing? You were only supposed to have a few sips!"
"Did you say that? Did you?" He reached me just as I felt the ground tip. "Didn't say anything. I've got those names, so that's all that matters, but you men ... you're all alike. Alive, dead, undead - all perverts! I had a drunken pervert in my pants! Do you know how unsanitary that is?"
Bones held me upright. I would have protested, but I couldn't remember how to. "What are you saying?"
"Winston poltergeisted my panties, that's what!" I announced with a loud hiccup.
"Why, you scurvy, lecherous spook!" Bones yelled in the direction of the cemetery. "If my pipes still worked, I'd go right back there and piss on your grave! — Jeaniene Frost

I have a personal ritual. Just like 10 minutes before a show, I'll open a beer, just so it feels like I've just arrived at a party. I have a few sips, then we go on stage. — Ed Robertson

I. At Tea
THE kettle descants in a cosy drone,
And the young wife looks in her husband's face,
And then in her guest's, and shows in her own
Her sense that she fills an envied place;
And the visiting lady is all abloom,
And says there was never so sweet a room.
And the happy young housewife does not know
That the woman beside her was his first choice,
Till the fates ordained it could not be so ...
Betraying nothing in look or voice
The guest sits smiling and sips her tea,
And he throws her a stray glance yearningly. — Thomas Hardy

That abominable and sensual act called reading the newspaper, thanks to which all the misfortunes and cataclysms in the universe over the last twenty-four hours, the battles which cost the lives of fifty-thousand men, the murders, the strikes, the bankruptcies, the fires, the poisonings, the suicides, the divorces, the cruel emotions of statesmen and actors, are transformed for us, who don't even care, into a morning treat, blending in wonderfully, in a particularly exciting and tonic way, with the recommended ingestion of a few sips of cafe au lait. — Marcel Proust

I would like a ship for the hips, please. Ships and hips. Hipsters to stir with their hips on the hip ships. And, of course, hips. Yeah, hip. That's me. I also like sips. I'm a slow drinker. A sipster. I'm a sipster hipster comedian. Yeah, sips. But more hips. Hip, hipster, hip star, hiptard. Definitely. — Demetri Martin

Perfect happiness is a beautiful sunset, the giggle of a grandchild, the first snowfall. It's the little things that make happy moments, not the grand events. Joy comes in sips, not gulps. — Sharon Draper

It should not be possible to get from the banks of the Pepani River to Wyoming in less than two days, because mentally and emotionally it is impossible. The shock is too much, the contrast too raw. We should sail or swim or walk from Africa, letting bits of her drop out of us, and gradually, in this way, assimilate the excesses and liberties of the States in tiny, incremental sips ... p 72 — Alexandra Fuller

I grew up the son of a Seventh Day Adventist minister, so I was really close to the church and sang church music between sips at my bottle, you know? I sat on the piano bench next to my mother. She was the church organist, so that music is deeply inside of me. — Al Jarreau

We started slow - a little drunk, a little dizzy - taking sips of honeyed bliss from dawn-colored lips. The world rolled below us - bicycle bells and newspaper boys, unaware that we were slowly setting the room on fire. — Leylah Attar

Take sips of this pure wine being poured. Don't mind that you've been given a dirty cup. — Rumi

One swallows the lie that flatters, but sips the bitter truth drop by drop. — Denis Diderot

The great barrier to worship among God's people is not that we are always seeking our own satisfaction, but that our seeking is so weak and half-hearted that we settle for little sips at broken cisterns when the fountain of life is just over the next hill. — John Piper

She dwells with Beauty
Beauty that must die: And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding Adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee mouths sips: — John Keats

Now musing o'er the changing scene Farmers behind the tavern screen Collect; with elbows idly press'd On hob, reclines the corner's guest, Reading the news to mark again The bankrupt lists or price of grain. Puffing the while his red-tipt pipe He dreams o'er troubles nearly ripe, Yet, winter's leisure to regale, Hopes better times, and sips his ale. — John Clare

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

"Lily and Lo f**k a lot," Ryke says, each f-bomb bleeped accordingly ... "If we had to rank who's getting the most, it'd be my brother, his girlfriend, then maybe Connor Cobalt and his hand."
Beside me, Connor grins and sips his wine, finding Ryke's comment more amusing than I would. — Krista Ritchie

Why do I sense hostility on your part, Patrick?" she asks softly, then sips her wine.
"Maybe because I'm hostile," I spit out. "Maybe because you sense this. — Bret Easton Ellis

For sure they didn't share sips from the same cup, give each other cheer-up hugs, or swear to keep real important things secret, which are all things that are done by a real 100 percent for real friend. — Charise Mericle Harper

Can I ask you something?" asks Will, after a while.
The man sips his whisky instead of answering.
Will asks the question anyway. "Have you ever been in love?"
The man places his glass down and stares at Will, steel-eyed. The expected reaction, "Once," he responds , the word just a croak from the back of his throat.
Will nods. "It's always just once, isn't it? The rest..they're just echoes — Matt Haig

The woman in the film drinks in a bar. She's in hair curlers, a chiffon headscarf tied over them like a tarp over a log pile. The hollows of the curlers, spaces for hope: something good might happen.

There was no sign of Sandro. I watched the film to keep myself awake while I waited.

A man bought the woman a beer. She took dainty sips in her hair curlers, in preparation for no specific occasion. Curler time seemed almost religious, a waiting that was more important than what the waiting was for. Curler time was about living the now with a belief that a future, an occasion for set hair, existed. — Rachel Kushner

She sits in her usual ample armchair, with piles of books and unopened magazines around her. She sips cautiously from the mug of weak herb tea which is now her substitute for coffee. At one time she thought that she could not live without coffee, but it turned out that it is really the warm large mug she wants in her hands, that is the aid to thought or whatever it is she practices through the procession of hours, or of days. — Alice Munro

I ask, "You ever hear that a person has to go through fire to become who they're meant to be?"
Mendes sips her coffee, nods. "Sure."
"I've always wanted to be strong, Miss Mendes, I just wish there wasn't so much fire. — David Arnold

A smile is hidden beneath the mustache, it crinkles the corners of his hooded eyes. "I didn't. I have other business in town and I told my friend I would attend to the matter of his son, as he could not do so himself."
"Very kind of you."
"Yes. I have been looking forward to it for quite some time."
Daddy's lemonade is almost gone, he sips it carefully, turning his eyes back to the water. "Looking forward to seeing the lad or to conducting your business?" Daddy is toying with him.
"Both. You see, I had never actually met his son." The glass rests against Daddy's lips, unmoving. Mr. Geyer watches him closely. "But now I have, so I can get on with my," he fixes his own gaze on the water, as though trying to see whatever it is that has transfixed my father, "business. — Gwenn Wright

Of course," Connor replies. "Your daughter is already more articulate than you are, so really, I like Sulli more than I like you."
Connor sips his coffee again like he just professed the weather: sunny with a side of fuck you. Ryke flips him off. The more direct approach to a fuck you. — Becca Ritchie

The trick is to teach yourself to read in small sips as well as long swallows. — Stephen King

But first, he thinks, he should get a mulled cider. It does not take him long to find the proper vendor in the courtyard. He pays for his cup, the steaming concoction contained in black-and-white marbled swirls, and wonders for a moment before his first sip if it won't taste as good as he remembers. He has recalled that taste countless times in his head, and despite the wealth of apples in the area, no cider with or without spices has ever tasted as good. He hesitates before taking the tiniest of sips. It tastes even better than he remembers. He — Erin Morgenstern

Glasses are for people that sips instead of drinks. — Kai Starr

I take a few quick sips. "This is really good." And I mean it. I have never tasted tea like this. It is smooth, pungent, and instantly addicting.
"This is from Grand Auntie," my mother explains. "She told me 'If I buy the cheap tea, then I am saying that my whole life has not been worth something better.' A few years ago she bought it for herself. One hundred dollars a pound."
"You're kidding." I take another sip. It tastes even better. — Amy Tan

Don't tell me Kinshasa, the poorest city in the poorest country in the world, a place where the average per capita income is one goat bell, two bootleg Michael Jackson cassette tapes, and three sips of potable water per year, thinks we're too poor to associate with. — Paul Beatty

Drink me in, like you would your morning coffee, in tiny sips, in between your thoughts and passing glimpses of candor. I want a taste of me in you. — Nessie Q.

And I wish that I was made of stone
So that I would not have to see
A beauty impossible to define
A beauty impossible to believe
A beauty impossible to endure
The blood imparted in little sips
The smell of you still on my hands
As I bring the cup up to my lips
No God up in the sky
No devil beneath the sea
Could do the job that you did, baby
Of bringing me to my knees — Nick Cave

One not only drinks the wine, one smells it, observes it, tastes it, sips it and-one talks about it. — Edward VII

And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience to attain To something like prophetic strain. — John Milton

Your lips and mine, two sips of wine, memories are made of this. — Dean Martin

A man awakes every morning
and instead of reading the newspaper
reads Act V of Othello.
He sips his coffee and is content
that this is the news he needs
as his wife looks on helplessly. — B.J. Ward

Very funny, and he laughed hard. Am I really stinko? On just three sips? He didn't think so, but he was definitely high. No more. Enough was enough. "Drink responsibly," he told the empty restaurant, and laughed. He'd hang out here for — Stephen King

All I can really tell you about my father is that he did odd things like put tin foil on a bottle of beer after having a few sips, then put it in the refrigerator to perhaps have on another night. — Bruce Eric Kaplan

Every morning, after a few sips of coffee and a bit of small talk, each of us retreats with our books, and travels centuries away from this place. — Yxta Maya Murray

Chrysanthemum
Silence - monk
Sips his morning tea. — Matsuo Basho

The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets. — John Gay

When I'm sixteen and reach the midpoint of my life, I'll have my first child. Not 'cause I want to, or 'cause I made a silly decision with a strapping young boy after sneaking a few sips of my father's fire juice, but 'cause I must. It's the Law of my people, the Heaters; a Law that's kept us alive and thriving for many years. A Law I fear. — David Estes

Bobby sips his coffee. If there wasn't coffee on this earth, I'd be dead. — Ned Vizzini

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

The Clochemerle 1929 was a magnificent wine. Drinking it in small sips, his grace the Archbishop felt himself well disposed towards the Clochemerlins. It takes all sorts to make a world and a Church, to people Heaven and Hell. But there was no denying that it took capable vignerons to make a wine like this, men whose minds must on no account be distracted by excessive metaphysical cares. — Gabriel Chevallier

Man may escape from rope and gun; Nay, some have outlived the doctor's pill: Who takes a woman must be undone, That basilisk is sure to kill. The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets, So he that tastes woman, woman, woman, He that tastes woman, ruin meets. — John Gay

Now that you offer me the platter,
Kitchen makes a wry face
Burning stove priorities in grudged flames,
Like the dissembling of prominent names,
Kitchen makes a wry face,
Now that you offer me the platter,
I render my nights insane
Like the murky hugs of a sweet pain,
I pierce my days with a blunt knife
Like the aftermath of a indelible strife,
I cajole my laughter to a calm silence
Like the death of a young boy, hence;
Now that you offer me the platter,
I place my hunger on my finger tips,
My taste in the credulousness of my lips,
I place my honour in the chocking sips,
Now that you offer me the platter.
The Harkening — Ashfaq Saraf

She breathes in shallow sips. The smell of the human remains, and of years of enclosed decay, freights the air so heavily it's almost a physical presence. With — M.R. Carey

The man in the dark suit sips his Laphroaig and water, savoring the marshy taste, the body-in-the-bog quality of the whisky. — Neil Gaiman

The Violins waltzed. The Cellos and Basses provided accompaniment. The Violas mourned their fate, while the Concertmaster showed off. The Flutes did bird imitations ... repeatedly, and the reed instruments had the good taste to admire my jacket. The Trumpets held a parade in honor of our great nation, while the French Horns waxed nostalgic about something or other. The Trombones had too much to drink. The Percussion beat the band, and the Tuba stayed home playing cards with his landlady, the Harp, taking sips of warm milk a blue little cup.
But the Composer is still dead. — Lemony Snicket

Brooding is more something I do when I'm working. I know so much more about sitting around worrying about a work project than I do about worrying about kids. This could just be a fact of life for older moms. We've worked and worked and worked and if we are lucky enough to finally have a child or two, we find ourselves suddenly catapulted into a most alien kind of chaos.
Work is so much easier. Anyone will tell you that. To have a desk, where you have everything all lined up, and a schedule you more or less get to agree to. Work. I am a worker. This is so funny because I never really think of my work as work. I certainly never though of myself as having a career. Writing, work, this is just who I am. I am a person who sits at a desk and makes phone calls and taps at a computer keyboard and sips coffee and calls her mom at five. That I am anything better or smaller than that has come as sudden news to me.
Brand new.
News. — Jeanne Marie Laskas

it is to be savored like a
seabreeze-whispered

dream...in the mysterious
blue minutes
before dawn

like a secret
infatuation.... like slow
languorous sips

of green tea... like a lingering
glimpse

a self-wrapped
paradise

like his name
upon my lips. — Sanober Khan

She sipped the tonic. Her face puckered again. She gagged, covered her mouth and mumbled in disgust, "Oh my God!"
"I said it tasted better, not great."
Abby continued to force the sour tonic down in sips. She could taste a hint of vanilla but the potion left a bitter aftertaste that was similar to vinegar. Her stomach gurgled and burned.
"Water," she coughed after her last sip of tonic.
"No. You'll dilute it," Noel said firmly, relieving her of the glass.
Smartly, she rebutted, "Isn't that what you're supposed to do after drinking poison? Or is it throw up? — Devon Ashley

When she felt the hot creamy chocolate go down her throat and into her stomach some of the tension in her body disappeared. Three long sips later and she felt close to being able to face the day. By
the time half the cocoa was gone she was in her special place, the place where everything was fine and she could face anything including Connor and a visit from her dad. By the time she finished the rest of the cocoa she'd be able to keep this calm going for the rest of the day, but of course she needed a second cup. — R.L. Mathewson

The two women sat by the fire, tilting their glasses and drinking in small peaceful sips. The lamplight shone upon the tidy room and the polished table, lighting topaz in the dandelion wine, spilling pools of crimson through the flanks of the bottle of plum gin. It shone on the contented drinkers, and threw their large, close-at-hand shadows upon the wall. When Mrs Leak smoothed her apron the shadow solemnified the gesture as though she were moulding an universe. Laura's nose and chin were defined as sharply as the peaks peaks on a holly leaf. — Sylvia Townsend Warner

He sips his drink and it leaves his handlebar mustache dripping like a cattle dog come outta a river. — Erin Bowman

I gestured my frustration. "I don't know. She's much better already. She wasn't talking half an hour ago.
Look at her now."
We all turned, finding Ceri sobbing quietly and drinking her tea in small reverent sips as the pixy girls
hovered over her. Three were plating her long, fair hair and another was singing to her.
Okay," I said as we turned back. "Bad example. — Kim Harrison

And now I am engulfed in this new flavor, so different from the light but humorless flavor of the Anapa and the thick bitter taste of the Mumbanyo, this rich deep resonant complex flavor that I am only getting my first sips of and yet how do I explain these differences to an average American who will take one look at the photographs and see black men & women with bones through their noses and lump them in a pile marked Savages? — Lily King

We may be able to tell how many stars are in the Milky Way; we may be able to count the petals of every flower, and number the bones of every bird; but unless faith leads us to a deeper understanding, a more reverent comprehension of the significance of the universe, God can be no more pleased with our knowledge than the painter is pleased with the fly which touches his picture with its feelers, and sips the varnish from the surface, and dies without dreaming of the meaning, thought, feeling, embodied in the colors. — Henry Van Dyke

The jobs, the housing, the relationships, the routines --- so many aspects of life that had been cut out of the whole cloth of the war emergency were now so intrinsic that it was easy to believe things had always been this way. Despite the best intentions of returning to their former lives, the come-heres tarried, realizing in small sips of awareness over the course of the war years --- or with great gulping realizations at the war's end abrupt end --- that they would not, or could not, go home again. — Margot Lee Shetterly

I never drank except a couple sips of wine at Thanksgiving. — Carol Alt

A brown trout sips one off the surface. Beneath the trout, mica-flecked sand gleams white. Come fall the female's caudal fin will nudge the grains to make a nest, the eggs spilling like pearls into a purse. — Ron Rash

Therese was propped up on one elbow. The milk was so hot, she could barely let her lip touch it at first. The tiny sips spread inside her mouth and released a melange of organic flavors. The milk seemed to taste of bone and blood, of warm flesh, or hair, saltless as chalk yet alive as a growing embryo. It was hot through and through to the bottom of the cup, and Therese drank it down, as people in fairy tales drink the potion that will transform, or the unsuspecting warrior the cup that will kill, Then Carol came and took the cup, and Therese was drowsily aware that Carol asked her three questions, on that had to do with happiness, one about the store and one about the future. Therese heard herself answering. She heard her voice rise suddenly in a babble, like a spring that she had no control over, and she realized she was in tears. She was telling Carol all that she feared and disliked, of her loneliness, of Richard, and of gigantic disappointments. — Patricia Highsmith

You sound like Darth Vader," I say bluntly. Elinor doesn't even flinch. "So be it," she says, and sips her water. That is totally a Darth Vader thing to say. Next she'll be ordering the destruction of a thousand innocent Jedi younglings. — Sophie Kinsella

As a fighter, you have a weight cut, and if there's a weigh-in scene you want to look way smaller and depleted. You want there to be a noticeable difference between that and the fight day. You don't drink water, except for tiny sips, and you're not really eating anything, except for a tiny slice of sweet potato every hour. — Matt Lauria

I could smell garlic, butter, and wine - the world's most delicious flavor combination. It made me feel warm, like the first few sips of wine always do. — Sarah Jio