Cafe Coffee Day Quotes

Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace' One grand boulevard with trees with one grand cafe in sun with strong black coffee in very small cups. One not necessarily very beautiful man or woman who loves you. One fine day.

Just the other day, I was in my neighborhood Starbucks, waiting for the post office to open. I was enjoying a chocolatey cafe mocha when it occurred to me that to drink a mocha is to gulp down the entire history of the New World. From the Spanish exportation of Aztec cacao, and the Dutch invention of the chemical process for making cocoa, on down to the capitalist empire of Hershey, PA, and the lifestyle marketing of Seattle's Starbucks, the modern mocha is a bittersweet concoction of imperialism, genocide, invention, and consumerism served with whipped cream on top.

And so taking the long way home through the market I slow my pace down. It doesn't come naturally. My legs are programmed to trot briskly and my arms to pump up and down like pistons, but I force myself to stroll past the stalls and pavement cafes. To enjoy just being somewhere, rather than rushing from somewhere, to somewhere. Inhaling deep lungfuls of air, instead of my usual shallow breaths. I take a moment to just stop and look around me. And smile to myself. For the first time in a long time, I can, quite literally, smell the coffee.

If you can put this book down, it means you need more coffee and less sleep. After all, sleep is for the weak which is why I get 8 hours every night and 2 hours during the day and drink de-cafe.

Didn’t we just have tea?’ ‘Tea is not coffee. Tea is a thirst quencher and occasional calming agent. Coffee is a lifestyle choice.

A person can live a day without silver or gold, but coffee? No thanks.

Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. ~Matthew 6:34 Prayer: The Lord’s Prayer. Check. Get some sleep. Not a chance.

You shoulda married someone, a whole lot more like you-- drink coffee in the little cafes, and you could go out shopping too. I shoulda married someone, who likes to camp and fish, and make love for two days straight, And you say, "don't you wish". You drive me crazy, with all the things you do and do not do. Umm, I love you so much, I'm gonna drive you crazy too.

Some people won't dog-ear the pages. Others won't place the book facedown, pages splayed. Some won't dare make a mark in the margin. Get over it. Books exist to impart their worlds to you, not to be beautiful objects to save for some other day. We implore you to fold, crack, and scribble on your books whenever the desire takes you. Underline the good bits, exclaim "YES!" and "NO!" in the margins. Invite others to inscribe and date the frontispiece. Draw pictures, jot down phone numbers and Web addresses, make journal entries, draft letters to friends or world leaders. Scribble down ideas for a novel of your own, sketch bridges you want to build, dresses you want to design. Stick postcards and pressed flowers between the pages. When next you open the book, you'll be able to find the bits that made you think, laugh, and cry the first time around. And you'll remember that you picked up that coffee stain in the cafe where you also picked up that handsome waiter. Favorite books should be naked, faded, torn, their pages spilling out. Love them like a friend, or at least a favorite toy. Let them wrinkle and age along with you.

Kate wondered if she was still stuck in that day, and if everything in her life since that point had only been a dream.

No, don't come out with me,' he says, laying his hand on my shoulder. 'Finish your coffee, then go back and tell Oscar you've found your wedding dress.' He leans down and kisses my cheek, and I catch hold of him, an awkward half-hug because I don't even know if I'll ever see him again. He doesn't push me away. He sighs, his hand gentle on the back of my head, and then he says, 'Love you, Lu,' as if he's exhausted. I watch him shoulder his way out through the cafe, and when he's gone I take the hat off and clutch it. 'Love you too,' I whisper. I sit there for a while, the hat in my hands, my wedding dress at my feet.

I didn’t get the time to tell you, or to hold you, or get there to holding you without any awkwardness. It breaks my heart, not a little but a lot, to see how things have turned out and once upon a time i would try to set them right, but now i know there is no point, in trying or in hoping, because it is how it is, and not much can be done, or should be done, but i still wanted to tell you, maybe one of these days I will, maybe I won’t but I wanted to tell you that I wanted those things with you. Meeting you for coffee on a rainy day, in a cafe somewhere between our homes. Spending the evening sitting by the sea, looking at the waves, listening to the noise and chaos of the city around us. Talking a walk with you in that park where we met the second time. Watching a movie with you. Having you over, coming over to yours. Going out to bars, birthday celebrations. Fighting sometimes, crazy loving the next. I wanted these things, and a few more. Oh god, i really wanted them with you.

Go away.” I stick my elbow in his ribs and force him to step back. “Sit on the couch and keep your hands to yourself,” I instruct, then follow him to the sofa and grab my Dating and Sex for Dummies books off the coffee table and shove them into my sock drawer while he laughs. “You’re making me miss my show,” I gripe as I toss things into the suitcase. “Your show? You sound like you’re eighty.” He glances at the TV behind me then back to me. “Murder on Mason Lane,” he says. “It was the neighbor. She was committing Medicare fraud using the victim’s deceased wife’s information. He caught on so she killed him.” I gasp. “You spoiler! You spoiling spoiler who spoils!” Then I shrug. “This is a new episode. You don’t even know that. It’s the daughter. She killed him. I’ve had her pegged since the first commercial break.” “You’re cute.” “Just you wait,” I tell him, very satisfied with myself. I’m really good at guessing whodunnit. “Sorry, you murder nerd, I worked on this case two years ago. It’s the neighbor.” “Really?” I drop my makeup bag into the suitcase and check to see if he’s teasing me. “I swear. I’ll tell you all the good shit the show left out once we’re on the plane.” I survey Boyd with interest. I do have a lot of questions. “I thought you were in cyber crimes, not murder.” “Murder isn’t a department,” he replies, shaking his head at me. “You know what I mean.” “Most crimes have a cyber component to them these days. There’s always a cyber trail.” Shit, that’s hot.

You haven't until you've come in and tried one of our coffees.

Then I stare at him for a while trying to determine what he wants. And if I want to give it to him. And then I start to panic a little. What if he wants to have an awkward conversation? Like more awkward than me? Or ask me about my sexual history? Or if I cheated on my third-grade spelling test in Mrs. Kallam’s class? Okay, I admit that last one is a little specific and not likely to come up. But I’m still a little ashamed of myself for doing it. “Would you rather eat stale pretzels or stale Cheetos?” “What?” I look at him, not sure I heard him correctly. He tilts his head in a nod, like, ‘you heard me correctly,’ but repeats the question. “Um, stale pretzels, I guess.” “Go a week without the internet or a week without coffee?” Oh, we’re playing the ‘would you rather’ game. “Internet.” I smile. “I think. Wait maybe the coffee? No, the internet.” “Play Quidditch or use the invisibility cloak for a day?” “You did not just Harry Potter me.” “I did.” “Well, I’m not sure that’s even answerable.” I shake my head and groan a little. “Who wouldn’t want to play Quidditch? But the invisibility cloak, wow.” I sigh, a dreamy expression on my face. Boyd just stares as if he’s not moving on until I answer. “Quidditch.” I finally relent. “Why?” “It looks like fun. Plus the invisibility cloak is basically spying, right? And I don’t really need to spy on anyone so it would be a waste.” “No point in being wasteful,” he agrees. “Plus I’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that I’d be really good at Quidditch.” And I can’t help it. This tidbit comes out a little smugly. Boyd lasts two seconds before laughing at me.

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Sitting inside a warm and cozy cafe laced with soft music, plush furniture, the smell of fresh coffee, books and newspaper, eating brunch served on a table made of cedar, surrounded by exposed brick walls, while looking at the locals run in the rain during Christmas time. The perfect day

The cafe had no windows and the lighting was always dim. Unless one looked at a watch, there was no way of knowing whether it was day or night. The three solid-looking clocks all showed completely different times

Roxie does her best. You're right. I'm not saying she doesn't put the effort in, but your sister has so much on her plate in her personal life. Some days are harder than others. Her heart has never been in the kitchen or in running a business. You were always more interested in both.” Miranda lowered her chin and took a sip from a glass of water that had been sitting on the coffee table.

Do you love Hemant?” I thought about this. I never had before. Hemant, like Sanjeev, was also a habit. We spoke at a fixed hour every day, for a fixed period of time; saw each other every Tuesday and Friday and drank the same frothy cold coffee at the same cafe each time. We made love once a month when Sanjeev would go to Benares for a field visit. Come to think of it, I didn’t know Hemant all that well either. He made me laugh, and that’s why I so enjoyed his company. But, I didn’t know what his childhood was like or how close he was to his sisters. Just that he had three. So, did I love Hemant? No.

Una buena taza de café hace que la vida parezca mejor.

Do you love Hemant?” I thought about this. I never had before. Hemant, like Sanjeev, was also a habit. We spoke at a fixed hour every day, for a fixed period of time; saw each other every Tuesday and Friday and drank the same frothy cold coffee at the same cafe each time. We made love once a month when Sanjeev would go to Benares for a field visit. Come to think of it, I didn’t know Hemant all that well either. He made me laugh, and that’s why I so enjoyed his company. But, I didn’t know what his childhood was like or how close he was to his sisters. Just that he had three. So, did I love Hemant? No.