Kit Kat Quotes

Because salvation is by grace through faith, I believe that among the countless number of people standing in front of the throne and in front of the Lamb, dressed in white robes and holding palms in their hands (see Revelation 7:9), I shall see the prostitute from the Kit-Kat Ranch in Carson City, Nevada, who tearfully told me that she could find no other employment to support her two-year-old son. I shall see the woman who had an abortion and is haunted by guilt and remorse but did the best she could faced with grueling alternatives; the businessman besieged with debt who sold his integrity in a series of desperate transactions; the insecure clergyman addicted to being liked, who never challenged his people from the pulpit and longed for unconditional love; the sexually abused teen molested by his father and now selling his body on the street, who, as he falls asleep each night after his last 'trick', whispers the name of the unknown God he learned about in Sunday school. 'But how?' we ask. Then the voice says, 'They have washed their robes and have made them white in the blood of the Lamb.' There they are. There *we* are - the multitude who so wanted to be faithful, who at times got defeated, soiled by life, and bested by trials, wearing the bloodied garments of life's tribulations, but through it all clung to faith. My friends, if this is not good news to you, you have never understood the gospel of grace.

Overeating is the addiction of choice of carers, and that's why it's come to be regarded as the lowest-ranking of all the addictions. It's a way of fucking yourself up while still remaining fully functional, because you have to. Fat people aren't indulging in the "luxury" of their addiction making them useless, chaotic, or a burden. Instead, they are slowly self-destructing in a way that doesn't inconvenience anyone. And that's why it's so often a woman's addiction of choice. All the quietly eating mums. All the KitKats in office drawers. All the unhappy moments, late at night, caught only in the fridge light.

I rented Ghostbusters, my all-time favorite inspirational movie. I picked up some microwave, popcorn, a KitKat, a bag of bite-sized Reese's peanut butter cups, and a box of instant hot chocolate with marshmallows. Do I know how to have a good time, or what?

Stuffing my face with fun-size Kit Kats. Which, for the record, are way less fun than full-size Kit Kats.

Fuck off with your Kit Kat Chunky

In fact, I noticed everything about Alex. Like that his left nostril was slightly larger than his right nostril. And the way he ate a Kit Kat bar: chocolate first and then the layers of wafer separately. I could pick his one sneeze in a room full of sneezers.

Just beyond the garden gate Follies and furies long await A gentle step on the path of stone By one unafraid to walk alone

My mother is European and expresses her love through food and cuddling. She wasn't the type of mother who would make it to school plays or soccer games, but if you wanted to stay at home sick, she was your girl. Whenever you'd go up to her room to cuddle with her, she'd pull out a Kit Kat or Snickers bar from her night table and look at you with dancing eyes.

KitKat 13:18:45: Who would your ideal prince be? Your childhood friend, Prince Charming, or a strong warrior? Gallows Humor 13:19:10: I don’t want to know which Disney Princess I am. I’ve told you before, stop doing online quizzes. Leave it. Gallows Humor 13:22:19: He would love me for myself. KitKat 13:22:57: Tell me about your dress.

« [L]'arbre dont on ferait leur cercueil poussait quelque part dans la forêt mais ils n'en savaient rien, un caillot de sang au cerveau pouvait les envoyer au néant en quelques secondes et ils se réjouissaient d'avoir mis la main sur un lot de petites Kit-Kat. »

LIFE HACK #538: Melt four KitKat Chunkys together with a warm knife for a fun way to forget you are crippled by loneliness.

Jessie Kay had once briefly considered thinking about exercising along with Monica's video. Then she'd found a bag of Kit Kat Minis and the insane idea went back to hell where it belonged.

they head down the alley to the White Hen, a small convenience store on Euclid, about a block and a half away. They went to the White Hen all the time, sometimes three or four times a day, for a Kit Kat or a Coke.

That by reading, whole worlds could be explored without ever leaving home. My father, on the other hand, warned me to get used to it. “It’s our lot in life, Kit-Kat,” he told me. “People like us toil. The rich bastards running everything make sure of that.

It’s our lot in life, Kit-Kat,” he told me. “People like us toil. The rich bastards running everything make sure of that.

Amogus

How is that light still on, Talbot?” BT asked in hushed tones with a note of reverence in his voice. “There’s a machine with Kit-Kats in there, do you have any change, Mr. T?” Tommy asked hopefully. It’s amazing to me that all of us had known Tommy long enough that nobody even looked halfway cross-eyed at him at his pronouncement. If Tommy had said that a convention of clowns respite with balloon animals was in there singing Billy Joel songs, we would all have believed him. Of course I wouldn’t have gone in, clowns are evil, but I still would have believed him.

You've been a naughty kit-kat. Silly bad thing. Dirty raggedy scamp. You'll go straight to hell,' said Rose. 'Yes. You've been bad and whiny. You don't get milk. No milk at all. No milk one bit. No milk for you.,' insisted Pierrot. ''If you cry, I'm going to poke you in the nose.' 'Owww! Owww! Owww! I don't want to hear it.' You smell bad. You have to scrub your paws. Bath time. Stinky creep.' 'Naughty sinner, naught, naughty, naughty. With mud for paws.' 'Soooo shameful. Look at me. Mister Shameful.' They had never been taught words of affection. Although the two had only known harsh terms and words of discipline, they had managed to transform them into words of love.

Why is Cole trying? He’s not the friendliest human we have.” Caleb rolled his eyes like the answer should have been obvious. “No, but he’s a reptile. Surely they can, like, recognize their own kind or something?” “Of course,” I snickered. “How silly of me. Do you want me to try? I actually like snakes. They’re cool creatures.” Caleb looked aghast. “Kitty Kat... they have no ears!

It is perhaps dangerous to conclude too much about the character and intentions of a nation based on the snacks menu in a railway carriage, but I couldn't help wonder if Scottish nationalism hasn't gone a little too far now. I mean, these poor people are denying themselves simple comforts like KitKats and Cornish pasties and instead are eating neeps and foot medication on grounds of patriotism. Seems a bit unnecessary to me.

Dan’s features showcased a mixture of intense confusion and frustration, and a small little voice in my head wondered if it was too late. If our chance had passed. I glared at that voice and shut a door in its face. What a stupid voice. You can’t sit here, voice. NEVER COME BACK! While I was berating my doubt, the cloud of confusion hovering over Dan’s features abruptly cleared and his stare cut to mine. It startled me because—lo and behold—the sexy eyes were back. Boy oh boy, were they back. Dan was legit bringing sexy back. Whoa. In the next moment, his mouth hooked upward and he pushed away from the wall, sauntering toward me. Instinctively, I took two steps back. “Kit-Kat.” He wagged a finger at me, like I’d been naughty. “You liked me.” “You liked me, you just said so,” I volleyed back, the words sounding like an accusation. “I did.” His grin grew and his voice deepened. “And I do.” Oh. Okay. Here we go.

I’m sick of trusting people who let me down.” She hugs herself. “What’s the point of letting someone in when they’ll leave as soon as things get hard?” “Let me in, Kit Kat,” I whisper. “I won’t let you down.

Finally, let's talk about those Kit Kat bars. There is no flavor that can be embodied in Kit Kat form and sold in Japanese stores. Green tea. Black tea. Miso. Cherry blossom. Soy sauce. Toasted soybean powder (kinako). Chile. Orange. Melon. Only a few are available at any given time, and right now, evil geniuses at Nestlé are coming up with new flavors. I'd like to suggest okonomiyaki flavor, which would consist of a bag of assorted flavors (ginger, squid, mountain yam, egg) that could be combined in the proportions of your choice, just like a real okonomiyaki. Sauce and Kewpie mayo optional. We bought a SkyTree orange Kit Kat, was a regular orange Kit Kat in a preposterously long box, and the Yubari melon Kit Kat, which tasted exactly like melon, was sold in a fancy gift box, and cost $200. Two-thirds of that is true.

Chris wanted to pretend he shopped and ate like a grown man. Slip the Kit-Kats under the spinach and no one’s any the wiser.

This was rock bottom. She’d just licked a Kit Kat wrapper.

I go by Kit now… and, just so you know, Katie wants to be called Kat.” Jesus Christ. Give me a break…

I ate the 100 Grand bar first, and then the Kit Kat,

As if from far away, she heard Jason whisper, “I love you, Kit Kat. I love you like I never thought it was possible to love someone.

You’re a taint-shaver? How have I never known?” Jacoby chokes on the water he just sipped from the bottle in his hand. “Wait, what? Are we really talking about KitKat’s taint?

Comer compulsivamente es la adicción que eligen las personas que tienen que cuidar de otros, y ése es el motivo de que se considere la adicción de menor rango. Es una manera de joderte a ti misma mientras te mantienes completamente operativa, porque no te queda más remedio. La gente gorda no se permite el «lujo» de que su adicción les convierta en alguien inútil, caótico, o en una carga. En vez de eso, se autodestruyen poco a poco sin molestar a nadie. Y esto explica que sea con tanta frecuencia una adicción elegida por las mujeres. Todas las mamás que comen sin hacer ruido. Todos los KitKats en el cajón de la oficina. Todos los momentos de infelicidad, a altas horas de la noche, captados sólo por la luz de la nevera.

is tall and rangy, with muscled thighs that start three inches apart. She looks like she probably runs up a mountain every day and doesn’t even know what a KitKat is.

Anyone who asked for chocolate limes was a killer, according to Adrian, due to his abhorrence of the sweet and his belief that no law-abiding person could like such an unnatural combination. "They've stepped outside the norms of society, Kate. Their moral compass has gone crazy. Anything goes." In addition, Adrian referred similarly to anyone who bought plain chocolate as "One with dark appetites." Kate tried to base her suspicions on more concrete evidence, but even she couldn't help feeling dubious of anyone who bought prawn cocktail crisps. They both agreed, though, that Kit Kat buyers were forces for good in society.

3 ALICIA Seven hours. That’s how much time had passed since Alicia collected two-and-a-half-year-old Theo from the police station and brought him to his new foster home. Seven hours since he scampered out of her grasp and disappeared under the dining room table. Seven hours since Alicia sat on the linoleum floor and promised him she would wait until he was ready to come out. Alicia always kept her promises to the kids. Which meant now she might have to die on this linoleum floor. “Hey, buddy, I think Bluey might be on the TV,” Alicia tried, without much hope. “Should we go and see?” Theo didn’t turn his little blond head from the wall. She had to admire his resolve. Since they’d arrived, he hadn’t spoken, he’d refused all food and drink, and, if smell was anything to go by, he’d soiled himself. Still, he wouldn’t budge. Last night, he’d been taken to the police station by a neighbor who’d discovered him playing on the road at midnight, wearing nothing but a dirty nappy. Apparently his father had been too inebriated to realize he was gone. His mother had yet to be located and it wasn’t looking hopeful. Alicia had hoped that returning Theo to Trish’s, where he’d spent a few months earlier in the year, might provide Theo with some reassurance; but, if anything, his understanding of what was happening made things worse. His head remained down, his tiny, twiggy arms remained ramrod straight by his sides. “Do you like chocolate?” she asked, as another foster kid, Aaron, sloped into the kitchen, and started rummaging in the cupboards, presumably for food. “I’ve got a Kit Kat here. Want some?” Alicia broke off a chocolate finger and held it out to Theo under the table. To her delight, he scooted across the floor to inspect it. “Ow!

Iain Pirie, Associate Professor in Politics and International Studies at Warwick University, argues that it’s not just the way women are represented in the media that’s helping to fuel this rise (a well-documented problem), but capitalism itself, which has corrupted our relationship with our own bodies and the food that sustains them. Pirie argues that the cycle of bingeing and purging that characterizes bulimia nervosa is similar to the accelerated and chaotic consumption that underpins modern culture and is vital for economic growth.18 The conflicting expectations placed on our bodies by advertisers – bombarding us with messages that food is a reward and a compensation (Have a break, have a KitKat), while at the same time telling us that not eating puts us higher on the moral and social hierarchy – are actually deadly.† Eating so much it hurts and then throwing it up in a fit of utter self-loathing is the perfect metaphor for consumerism.

FREYA: Snorri, darling. It’s been too long. [Air-kisses SS.] Mwah. Mwah. Miles, be a love and take—what was your name again, dear? WOMAN: Ag-Agnes. F: Hmm. [Taps finger on lips.] Are you quite certain Ag-Agnes is the name you want for the rest of your death? AG-AGNES: What do you mean the rest of my death? F: Maybe something a little perkier. Let’s see. [Strokes cats.] I think Kitty will do nicely. That’s what we’ll call you, my dear. KITTY: Who are you people? F: Miles, explain everything to Kitty, will you? M: I’m on it. [Fires a finger gun at SS.] Catch ya later, Athane. Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! K: Seriously. What is going on? F: Oh, darling, don’t you see? You’re dead. K: I’m dead? M [grabbing Kitty in a headlock and giving her knuckle noogies]: Come on, Kit-Kat, it’s not so bad! K: I’m dead? [Miles and Kitty depart.]

I pluck the package of yuzu gummies from Eriku's palm and pop one in my mouth. "Umai!" I moan. "Now I know where all your energy comes from." I am fueled by sugar and love. The rest of the afternoon, I eat yuzu gummies, and by the end of our session, I know the ins and outs of ionic, metallic, and covalent bonds. After that, he brings a new sweet every day. "It will help with your memory," he asserts. "Scents and flavors create specialized neurological pathways." He flips open a textbook. "Today is Tokyo Banana and intermolecular force." It goes on. Meito Cola Mochi Candy paired with changes of substances. Hokkaido melon with mascarpone-cheese-flavored Kit Kats and inorganic chemistry. We finish with Eiwa coffee-flavored marshmallows and organic chemistry.

KitKats

Milky Way, AirHeads, Mars bars, Twix, Kit Kat, Chunky, mr. Goodbar, York Peppermint Patties, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Mike and Ike, Atomic FireBall, JuJu Fish, Sour Neon Worms, Goobers, Laffy Taffy, Nerds, Sugar Daddy, Baby Ruth, Snickers, Kisses, M & M’s (plain and peanut), gummi bears, Dots, Junior Mints, Milk Duds, Good & Plenty, Whoppers, Twizzlers, Dum Dum, Skittles, Butterfinger, Starburst, Crunch, Jolly Rancher, Sweet Pops, Tootsie Roll….

You’re a good girl, Kit-Kat,” he says before kissing me on the cheek. “You always have been. I should have told you that more. I regret that now. I regret a lot of things. But you? You’ve always been my pride and joy.

My mom hates to cook," Rosie said. "But every time she's had to go to a potluck, she brings one thing. A trifle she makes, with brownies and pudding and candy and whipped cream." Rosie had plated her dessert into two glasses- she was pretty sure they were champagne coupes- and the two chefs poised their spoons at the rim of the glasses. "This is my version of my mom's trifle. Made with moelleux au chocolat, chocolate mousse, vanilla whipped cream, and chocolate feuilletine between each layer." Rosie loved moelleux au chocolat. The internet seemed to translate it as molten chocolate cake, but every moelleux au chocolat Rosie had had in Paris wasn't like a molten chocolate cake at all, but like the richest, fudgiest brownie on the planet. Which made it the perfect base for her trifle. And then the feuilletine, Rosie thought, would give the same crunch as a Kit Kat.

Carter’s ears perked when he heard a crinkle of a wrapper as the guy stuck his hand in one of the many pockets of his pants. Slowly he revealed the mother-of-all candy bars, a king size Kit Kat.

Abrió una barra de KitKat

A text message from Death. I'VE JUST HAD A KIT KAT THAT WAS ALL CHOCOLATE NO WAFER. WHERE'S YOUR PRECIOUS SCIENCE NOW?

For two decades, our escape defined me. It dominated my personality and compelled my every decision. By college, half my life had led up to our escape and the other half was spent reliving it, in churches and retreats where my mother made it a hagiograpihc journey, on college applications where it was a plea, at sleepovers where it was entertainment, and in discussion groups after public viewings of xenophobic melodrama like China Cry and Not Without my Daughter, films about Christian women facing death and escaping to America. Our story was a sacred thread woven into my identity. Sometimes people asked, But don't a lot of Christians live there? or Couldn't your mother just say she was Muslim? It would take me a long time to get over those kinds of questions. They felt like a bad grade, like a criticism of my face and body...Once in an Oklahoma church, a woman said, "Well, I sure do get it. You came for a better life." I thought I'd pass out -- a better life? In Isfahan, we had yellow spray roses, a pool. A glass enclosure shot up through our living room, and inside that was a tree. I had a tree inside my house; I had the papery hand of Morvarid, my friend nanny, a ninety-year-old village woman; I had my grandmother's fruit leather and Hotel Koorosh schnitzels and sour cherries and orchards and a farm - life in Iran was a fairytale. In Oklahoma, we lived in an apartment complex for the destitute and disenfranchised. Life was a big gray parking lot with cigarette butts baking in oil puddles, slick children idling in the beating sun, teachers who couldn't do math. I dedicated my youth and every ounce of my magic to get out of there. A better life? The words lodged in my ear like grit. Gradually, all those retellings felt like pandering. The skeptics drew their conclusions based on details that I had provided them: my childhood dreams of Kit Kats and flawless bananas. My academic ambitions. I thought of how my first retelling was in an asylum office in Italy: how merciless that with the sweat and dust of escape still on our brows, we had to turn our ordeal into a good, persuasive story or risk being sent back. Then, after asylum was secured, we had to relive that story again and again, to earn our place, to calm casual skeptics. Every day of her new life, the refugee is asked to differentiate herself from the opportunist, the economic migrant... Why do the native-born perpetuate this distinction? Why harm the vulnerable with the threat of this stigma? ...To draw a line around a birthright, a privilege. Unlike economic migrants, refugees have no agency; they are no threat. Often, they are so broken, they beg to be remade into the image of the native. As recipients of magnanimity, they can be pitied. But if you are born in the Third World, and you dare to make a move before you are shattered, your dreams are suspicious. You are a carpetbagger, an opportunist, a thief. You are reaching above your station.

A habzsolás a szociális segítők által preferált függőség, és ezért tartják minden függőség között a legalacsonyabb rendűnek. Ezzel úgy cseszheti szét magát az ember, hogy közben teljesen működőképes marad, mert muszáj. A kövérek nem engedhetik meg maguknak azt a „luxust”, hogy szenvedélyük hasznavehetetlenné, kaotikussá vagy kolonccá tegye őket. Ehelyett lassan úgy pusztítják el magukat, hogy azzal másnak nem okoznak kellemetlenséget. És ezért választják oly sokan a nők közül ezt a függőséget. Azok a titokban habzsoló anyukák. Az a sok KitKat az irodai fiókokban. Azok a boldogtalan, késő éjjeli pillanatok a hűtőszekrény fényében.