Coffee Quotes
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When you have kids and get older, it goes beyond flowers and chocolate. It's about waking up with a baby, letting her sleep in, and making a coffee for her when she wakes up. To me, being romantic is putting someone else first and thinking about what makes them happy.
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I put my arm around her and said, "Jas, I have found that when you are troubled, it is often better to think of others rather than yourself. I think you would feel much better if you got me some milky coffee and jammy dodgers and I told you all about me.
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I'll grab coffee with my wife and daughter and then am in the office around 9 or 10. From there, I usually have about 8 hours of meetings.
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Coffee makes us severe, and grave and philosophical.
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I often work and write in coffee shops, observing the baristas and eavesdropping on interesting conversations.
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When I am working it is up early and coffee and 15 hours of being on the set. When I am not working, it is up late and coffee, golf or softball and hopefully a ball game on the television.
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I was homeless and I was in San Diego and I started singing in a local coffee shop and people started coming to hear me sing.
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So without an original or helpful thought in my head, I just sat for some minutes and watched these poor disconnected people shuffle past. Then I did what most white Australians do. I read my newspaper and drank my coffee and didn't see them anymore.
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Black coffee is the latest fad I have picked up. Then there are my endless cups of chai! I'm trying to cut down and keep it to no more than three cups a day.
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A well-conceived product excels at what it does. It's close to being functionally flawless - like a Ziploc bag, a radio from Tivoli Audio, a Philips Sonicare toothbrush, a Nespresso coffee maker or Google's home page.
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I get up at sunrise. I'm a Buddhist, so I chant in the morning. My wife and I sit and have coffee together, but then it's list-making time. I have carpentry projects. We have roads we keep in repair. It's not back-breaking, but it's certainly aerobic and mildly strenuous.
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On the broad spectrum of solitude, I lean toward the extreme end: I work alone, as well as live alone, so I can pass an entire day without uttering so much as a hello to another human being. Sometimes a day's conversation consists of only five words, uttered at the local Starbucks: 'Large coffee with milk, please.'
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I've always had rock star envy. Unfortunately, writing is a pedestrian, tame occupation done while sitting in coffee-stained pajamas in front of a computer rather than prowling around a huge stage in sweaty leather pants, so I have to get my kicks vicariously.
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People don't stop eating, and they don't stop drinking coffee.
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You go into any doughnut shop and look at three cops having coffee, I guarantee I look like one of them.
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As soon as coffee is in your stomach, there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move…similes arise, the paper is covered. Coffee is your ally and writing ceases to be a struggle.
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I'm a coffee enthusiast. I try not to have too many bad habits.
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Adapting to our Second Adulthood is not all about the money. It requires thinking about how to find a new locus of identity or how to adjust to a spouse who stops working and who may loll, enjoying coffee and reading the paper online while you're still commuting.
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I remember being really shocked after Mellow Gold came out and going on tour, and all these kids were there. It totally disturbed me. Who are all these young people? I'd been playing Mississippi John Hurt covers in coffee shops to a bunch of thirty-, forty-, fifty-year olds. Then all of a sudden there were these teenagers.
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I work full-time in a used bookstore. I get up. I drink a cup of coffee. I think, The last thing I want to do is write. Then I go to the computer and write.
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I got invited to the Playboy Mansion with the Lonely Island guys after their first season on 'SNL,' and I sat in the corner drinking coffee and talking to Akiva Schaffer about what aspect ratio he was going to shoot 'Hot Rod' in. Like, that's what we talk about.
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The morning slips away in a Valium haze and catalogues,And numerous cups of coffee,In the afternoon the weekly food is put in bags - as you float off down the high street.The shop windows reflect, play a nameless host to a closet ghost -A picture of your fantasy, a victim of your misery...
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I can only tell you that eggs, country ham, biscuits, a pot of coffee, a morning paper, a table by the window overlooking the veranda and putting green, listening to the idle chitchat of competitors, authors, wits and philosophers, hasn't exactly been a torturous way to begin each day at the Masters all these years.
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Elena wondered if Michaela was waiting to be served. Snorting inwardly at the idea, she poured her own coffee—and, because she was feeling generous, and okay, maybe because she wanted to irritate Michaela—Raphael’s as well. Then she put down the carafe.
