Tales From The Cafe Quotes

Seasons flow in a cycle. Life too, passes through difficult winters. But after any winter, spring will follow.

We can never truly see into the hearts of others. When people get lost in their own worries they can be blind to the feelings of those most important to them.

I want to find work that is worth spending a lifetime on

Sometimes people will only confide in someone they trust, but other times they need the listener to be a complete stranger.

People tend to feel happy when spring arrives, especially after a cold winter. When spring begins, however, cannot be pinpointed to one particular moment. There is no one day that clearly marks when winter ends and spring begins. Spring hides inside winter. We notice it emerging with our eyes, our skin, and other senses. We find it in new buds, a comfortable breeze and the warmth of the sun. It exists alongside winter.

The visual and auditory information that enters the mind is distorted by experiences, thoughts, circumstances, wild fancies, prejudices, preferences, knowledge, awareness, and countless other workings of the mind.

The names of coffee beans mostly derive from where they are grown. In the case of mocha, the beans are grown in Yemen and Ethiopia and named after Yemen’s port city of Mocha, where they were traditionally shipped from. Kilimanjaro beans are grown in Tanzania

Kiyoshi looked pleased, and smiling broadly, he slowly inhaled over the cup. Upon observing this, Nagare’s narrow eyes arched in pleasure. That the coffee he served in the cafe was never just ordinary was a source of great pride and joy to him. He puffed out his chest with an air of satisfaction and retired behind the counter.

For a parent, a child is a child forever.

By the time I learned what a Pit Bull really was, it was too late; I was already in love. Of course I'd heard the stories, but I had never put these almost mythological urban tales together with the dogs in my neighborhood. I was living in Manhattan, just blocks away from a dog park, and dog watching was a spectator sport among those of us who were still dogless. There were dogs of every shape and size, but my eye kept going to the short, stocky, exuberant dogs that seemed like cartoons. You could tell by the gleam in their eyes they felt very lucky to be here, in the city, walking with the person they kept on the other end of the leash. Their heads were blocky and human. Their short coats made it seem like they were wearing costumes made of felt. It wasn't hard to imagine there might be a little person inside. And they were everywhere that there were people: in cafes, outside bodegas, eating at restaurants.

The other evening, in that cafe-cabaret in the Rue de la Fontaine, where I had run aground with Tramsel and Jocard, who had taken me there to see that supposedly-fashionable singer... how could they fail to see that she was nothing but a corpse? Yes, beneath the sumptuous and heavy ballgown, which swaddled her and held her upright like a sentry-box of pink velvet trimmed and embroidered with gold - a coffin befitting the queen of Spain - there was a corpse! But the others, amused by her wan voice and her emaciated frame, found her quaint - more than that, quite 'droll'... Droll! that drab, soft and inconsistent epithet that everyone uses nowadays! The woman had, to be sure, a tiny carven head, and a kind of macabre prettiness within the furry heap of her opera-cloak. They studied her minutely, interested by the romance of her story: a petite bourgeoise thrown into the high life following the fad which had caught her up - and neither of them, nor anyone else besides in the whole of that room, had perceived what was immediately evident to my eyes. Placed flat on the white satin of her dress, the two hands of that singer were the two hands of a skeleton: two sets of knuckle-bones gloved in white suede. They might have been drawn by Albrecht Durer: the ten fingers of an evil dead woman, fitted at the ends of the two overlong and excessively thin arms of a mannequin... And while that room convulsed with laughter and thrilled with pleasure, greeting her buffoonery and her animal cries with a dolorous ovation, I became convinced that her hands no more belonged to her body than her body, with its excessively high shoulders, belonged to her head... The conviction filled me with such fear and sickness that I did not hear the singing of a living woman, but of some automaton pieced together from disparate odds and ends - or perhaps even worse, some dead woman hastily reconstructed from hospital remains: the macabre fantasy of some medical student, dreamed up on the benches of the lecture-hall... and that evening began, like some tale of Hoffmann, to turn into a vision of the lunatic asylum. Oh, how that Olympia of the concert-hall has hastened the progress of my malady!

Bereavement. It’s a part of life, and carrying out acts of mourning allows us not to forget.

My sweet boy... Her voice was too soft for him to hear, but that’s what her lips whispered. As if speaking to a newborn. For a parent, a child is a child forever. Never ever expecting anything in return, she was simply a mother who wanted her child to be happy, always, to shower him with love.

For a parent, a child is a child forever. Never ever expecting anything in return, she was simply a mother who wanted her child to be happy, always, to shower him with love.

Seasons flow in a cycle. Life too, passes through difficult winters. But after any winter, spring will follow.

His message was not one of empathy. He was pointing out a way Asami could change the way she thought about the grief that she was experiencing.

I feel terrible that I gave that impression... We can never truly see into the hearts of others. When people get lost in their own worries, they can be blind to the feelings of those most important to them.

Thank you for coming to see me.

If I had led a sad life as a result of my sister’s death, then it would have been as if her death had caused it. So, I thought I mustn’t allow that to happen. I swore to myself that I would make sure that I was happy. My joy would be the legacy of my sister’s life.

Some lies are told in order to present yourself in a more interesting or more favourable light; others are told to deceive people. Lies can hurt, but they can also save your skin. Regardless of why they are told, however, lies most often lead to regret.

If you try to find happiness after this, then this child will have put those seventy days toward making you happy. In that case, its life has meaning. You are the one who is able to create meaning for why that child was granted life. Therefore, you absolutely must try to be happy. The one person who would want that for you the most is that child.

You're still here, observed Nagare with Miki on his back, she had tired herself out and fallen asleep from playing in the snow.

The lighting hadn't got any brighter. Yet everything now looked fresh to his eyes. His despair at life had metamorphosed into hope His outlook had changed unrecognizably. The world hasn't changed, I have ...

Observing that she was struggling with all her might to do the job of pouring the coffee, Nagare realized that she was still a child - a thought that made him happy.

... My time is up, I must go now, he said. But as he reached for his cup, she spoke. 'I knew it ... Kiyoshi, is that really you?

He didn't think she knew that this cafe allowed you to return to the past. 'How did you know?' 'Your hunting cap ..' [...] 'I see you've worn it a lot,' she said with a smile.

Is it you, monsieur, who wants to return to the past? *Miki, please, speak proper Japanese, said Nagare, agha at her attitude. But Miki tsk-tsked him with a wave of her finger. That is not possible, moi is not Japanese, she retorted. Nagare gave an exaggerated frown as if he had been expecting such a response. 'Oh, what a shame! It is a rule of the cafe that the person who pours the coffee must be Japanese! 'Only kidding! I'm Japanese!' she exclaimed, flip-flopping shamelessly.

People tend to feel happy when spring arrives, especially after a cold winter. When spring begins, however, cannot be pinpointed to one particular moment. There is no one day that clearly marks when winter ends and spring begins. Spring hides inside winter. We notice it emerging with our eyes, our skin and other senses. We find it in new buds, a comfortable breeze and the warmth of the sun. It exists alongside winter.

I had led a sad life as a result of my sister’s death, then it would have been as if her death had caused it. So, I thought I mustn’t allow that to happen. I swore to myself that I would make sure that I was happy. My joy would be the legacy of my sister’s life.

Seasons flow in a cycle. Life too, passes through difficult winters. But after any winter, spring will follow. Here, one spring had arrived. Kazu’s spring had just begun.

People tend to feel happy when spring arrives, especially after a cold winter. When spring begins, however, cannot be pinpointed to one particular moment. There is no one day that clearly marks when winter ends and spring begins. Spring hides inside winter. We notice it emerging with our eyes, our skin and other senses. We find it in new buds, a comfortable breeze and the warmth of the sun. It exists alongside winter.

The novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky once wrote, “The most difficult thing in life is to live and not lie.

Spring hides inside winter.[...]It exists alongside winter.

We can never truly see into the hearts of others. When people get lost in their own worries, they can be blind to the feelings of those most important to them.

Even if his rational brain accepted another version of reality, his heart never would.

At the news, he heard a tautly stretched string snapping inside his head.

Le persone non vedono le cose e non sentono le cose nella maniera oggettiva che credono. A distorcere le informazioni visive e uditive che entrano nel cervello intervengono i pensieri, le circostanze, le fantasie più sfrenate, i pregiudizi, le preferenze, le conoscenze, la consapevolezza e un'infinità di altri meccanismi cerebrali.

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