Quotes & Sayings About Winter And Tea

You learn to forgive (the South) for its narrow mind and growing pains because it has a huge heart. You forgive the stifling summers because the spring is lush and pastel sprinkled, because winter is merciful and brief, because corn bread and sweet tea and fried chicken are every bit as vital to a Sunday as getting dressed up for church, and because any southerner worth their salt says please and thank you. It's soft air and summer vines, pine woods and fat homegrown tomatoes. It's pulling the fruit right off a peach tree and letting the juice run down your chin. It's a closeted and profound appreciation for our neighbors in Alabama who bear the brunt of the Bubba jokes. The South gets in your blood and nose and skin bone-deep. I am less a part of the South than it is part of me. It's a romantic notion, being overcome by geography. But we are all a little starry-eyed down here. We're Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara and Rosa Parks all at once. — Amanda Kyle Williams

The winter drove them mad. It drove every man mad who had ever lived through it; there was only ever the question of degree. The sun disappeared, and you could not leave the tunnels, and everything and everyone you loved was ten thousand miles away. At best, a man suffered from strange lapses in judgment and perception, finding himself at the mirror about to comb his hair with a mechanical pencil, stepping into his undershirt, boiling up a pot of concentrated orange juice for tea. Most men felt a sudden blaze of recovery in their hearts at the first glimpse of a pale hem of sunlight on the horizon in mid-September. But there were stories, apocryphal, perhaps, but far from dubious, of men in past expeditions who sank so deeply into the drift of their own melancholy that they were lost forever. And few among the wives and families of the men who returned from a winter on the Ice would have said what they got back was identical to what they had sent down there. — Michael Chabon

We could endlessly reminisce, live in the past to an unhealthy degree, then politely kill each other some winter night before bedtime, stirring poison into our cups of whiskey-spiked chamomile tea, wearing party hats. Then, nervous about our double homicide, we could lie in bed together, holding hands again, frightened and waiting, still wondering, after all these years, if we even believed in our own souls. — Timothy Schaffert

Love isn't a burst o' trumpets and a flock o' doves descendin' out o' the heavens to roost on yer heads.
Tis sharin' a cup o' tea by the hearth on a cold winter's night.
'Tis the look in yer husband's eyes when ye lay yer first child in his arms.
Tis the ache in yer heart when ye watch the light in his eyes dim fer the last time, and know a part o' ye has gone out o' this world with him ... — Teresa Medeiros

Iced tea! Nothing is half so refreshing as a glass of black tea piled high with ice! More than a quencher of thirst, it is a tamer of tempers, a lifter of lethargy, and a brightener of smiles. It is a taste of Winter's chill, magically trapped in midsummer's glass. — Paul F. Kortepeter

When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. — Kenneth Grahame

Meet me where the sky touches the sea. Wait for me where the world begins. — Jennifer Donnelly

If I didn't write sex scenes, all my characters would head to the kitchen and make cups of tea. — Michael Winter

He brewed his tea in a blue china pot, poured it into a chipped white cup with forget-me-nots on the handle, and dropped in a dollop of honey and cream. He sat by the window, cup in hand, watching the first snow fall. "I am," he sighed deeply, "contented as a clam. I am a most happy man. — Ethel Pochocki

Dan wasn't bothered by the cold; nestled beneath two down comforters, he was warm as tea and toast. Yet the wind had found its way inside his head just as it found its way under the sashes and doorsills of the old Victorian he now called home. In his dream, he could hear it moaning around the hotel where he had spent one winter as a little boy. In his dream, he was that little boy. — Stephen King

Zenia," he said, "I'm not good at it - tea and cakes. I have no patience with it."
She looked directly at him. "I suppose you would prefer to eat on the ground with your fingers?" Her dry remark seemed to take him aback. He looked at her with a faint frown. "Shall I sprinkle some sand on the butter," she asked, "to put you more at ease?"
He tilted up one corner of his mouth. "No." He lifted his cup, extending his little finger with an exaggerated delicacy. "I can play, if I must. How does your dear aunt do, Lady Winter? I hear she has the vapors once an hour. I have a receipt for a rhubarb plaster - most efficacious! Of course, if you prefer a more permanent cure, nothing can surpass a fatal dose of arsenic. — Laura Kinsale

Surely everyone is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a wintry fireside; candles at four o'clock, warm hearthrugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies to the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without. — Thomas De Quincey

AFTERNOON TEA---
GUIDELINES FOR YOUNG OFFICERS' WIVES
By Audrey J. Rudman

Use your loveliest tablecloth. Have fresh flowers on the table. In winter, candles may be lit. Colored candles are sometimes seen, but white are in better taste.
Offer small fancy cakes, plain cookies, and tiny sandwiches, with a choice of fillings. Meat paste or cucumber are always acceptable. The service of tea is presided over by the ranking officer's wife. The courtesy should be extended to the CO's wife, if she cares to pour. — Laurie Graham

I go back to Oberlin in the dead of winter to give a "convocation speech" in Finney Chapel, the largest and most historic of campus structures. In a subconscious nod to my college experience I forget to pack both tights and underwear and have to spend the weekend going commando in a wool skirt and knee socks. I am toured around the school like a stranger by a girl who didn't even go here. We stop at a glossy new cafe for tea and scones. She asks if I want a tour of the dormitories- no, I just want to wander around alone and maybe cry. — Lena Dunham

She smiled as she poured tea into his cup. "I hope you find your rooms comfortable?"
"Quite." He took a too-hasty sip of tea and scalded his tongue.
"The view is to your liking?"
He had a view of a brick wall. "Indeed."
She fluttered her eyelashes at him over the rim of her teacup. "And the bed. Is it soft and ... yielding?"
He nearly choked on the bite of cake he'd just taken.
"Or do you prefer a firmer bed?" she asked sweetly. "One that refuses to yield too soon?"
"I think" - he narrowed his eyes at her - "whatever mattress I have on the bed you gave me is perfect. But tell me, my lady, what sort of mattress do you prefer? All soft goose down or one that's a bit ... harder?"
It was very fast, but he saw it: Her gaze flashed down to the juncture of his thighs and then up again. If there hadn't been anything to see there before, there certainly was now.
"Oh, I like a nice stiff mattress," she purred. "Well warmed and ready for a long ride. — Elizabeth Hoyt

The cold seemed less relentless now. The small circle of white light from my bedside lamp and its hint of the dawn to come seemed to drive the worst of the chill away and the hot tea did the rest, as I lay and read further into the life of the young woman in the bravado coat. — Jane Lovering

I always sleep well, dearest, except for when your hot body smothers me completely!"
Darcy grinned. "Forgive me. Even sub- consciously I must be near you. I have no control over the matter. Tea and a scone?"
"Yes, please." She sat, tucking her feet under her. "No need to apologize, William. I simply elbow you hard and you roll away, temporarily at least. Come winter you can re- pay the treatment when I slip my frozen feet between your thighs. — Sharon Lathan

There is only one thing about which I shall have no regrets when my life ends. I have savored to the full all the small, daily joys. The bright sunshine on the breakfast table; the smell of the air at dusk; the sound of the clock ticking; the light rains that start gently after midnight; the hour when the family come home; Sunday-evening tea before the fire! I have never missed one moment of beauty, not even taken it for granted. Spring, summer, autumn, or winter. I wish I had failed as little in other ways. — Agnes Sligh Turnbull

And now it's time for tea. Teatime is teatime. And look who's here, in time for tea. — Jonah Winter

I'm looking for the binding energy of a look
a crop of reflections to be reaped
in a winter of thorn
when icebergs of illusion will melt
to be served at high tea
and the spaces between the poles pinned down — Nancy Peters

This explains why I've been making Recession Tea- letting a teabag steep for half the time it should so I can use it again for a second cup later. — Suzan Colon

Chilled ice tea that tempered tepid summer days lathered thick with humidity. Frothy hot chocolate that cut winter's chill. Bedtime prayers that sent our fears scrambling in panicked flight. Golden bouquets of dandelions aromatically rich with the gift of summers scent. Family meals that wove yet another binding thread in and through the tapestry of those seated around the table. These are but the slightest sampling of the innumerable gifts my mother handed to this child of hers. And without them, my life would be impoverished beyond words to describe. — Craig D. Lounsbrough

There were two kinds of storms, Alice thought. One was a friendly kind that you could enjoy watching out the window with a cup of tea. It crashed around in the sky with theatricality but no real malice.
This storm was the other, the killing kind. There are horrors that exist in the night, the bitter wind said, horrors that only children and demons can see. There are horrors that exist in the mind as well, that only the individual can bear witness to. The winter wind sang of things that the mind did not quite remember but that fear never forgot, filled as people are with the haunts and tragedies that make up the shadows of their lives. We can't endure them, the wind whispered, for when the light and warmth are truly taken we are left shivering naked in the dark. Then we hear a nearby husky chuckle that tells us we are prey. — Thea Harrison

She wondered how the trees fought the chilling rush of the winter. Hot or cold, their endurance is limitless. They were like a tea bag--the longer you dip it into the water, the stronger its taste becomes. — Cherry Seniel

This book could not have been written without the people of Mongolia, who allowed me to live among them for a time and who taught me their history over salted tea and vodka while the winter eased into spring. — Conn Iggulden

Adderall or Ritalin TYPE 3. Impulsive-Compulsive Addicts SYMPTOMS Combination of types 1 and 2 BRAIN FINDINGS/NEURO-TRANSMITTER ISSUE High ACG plus low PFC/low S and DA SUPPLEMENTS 5-HTP plus green tea and rhodiola MEDICATIONS SSRI plus stimulant TYPE 4. Sad or Emotional Addicts SYMPTOMS Sad or depressed mood, winter blues, carbohydrate cravings, loss of — Daniel G. Amen

My birthplace was California, but I couldn't forget Armenia, so what is one's country? Is it land of the earth, in a specific place? Rivers there? Lakes? The sky there? The way the moon comes up there? And the sun? Is one's country the trees, the vineyards, the grass, the birds, the rocks, the hills and summer and winter? Is it the animal rhythm of the living there? The huts and houses, the streets of cities, the tables and chairs, and the drinking of tea and talking? Is it the peach ripening in summer heat on the bough? Is it the dead in the earth there? — William, Saroyan