I think she ate a salad and some soup. And loneliness. She ate that, too.
There ain't a body, be it mouse or man, that ain't made better by a little soup.
Hollywood is the only industry, even taking in soup companies, which does not have laboratories for the purpose of experimentation.
I hadn't the heart to touch my breakfast. I told Jeeves to drink it himself.
Far away, I could hear them lapping up my brains. Like Macbeth's witches, the three lithe cats surrounded my broken head, slurping up that thick soup inside. The tips of their rough tongues licked the soft folds of my mind. And with each lick my consciousness flickered like a flame and faded away.
Some minds are like soup in a poor restaurant—better left unstirred.
If you knew how to cook, maybe I would eat," Jace muttered. Isabelle froze, her spoon poised dangerously. "What did you say?" Jace edged toward the fridge. "I said I'm going to look for a snack to eat." That's what I thought you said." Isabelle turned her attention to the soup.
The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places, it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked across the redness.
For thousands of years, human beings had screwed up and trashed and crapped on this planet, and now history expected me to clean up after everyone. I have to wash out and flatten my soup cans. And account for every drop of used motor oil. And I have to foot the bill for nuclear waste and buried gasoline tanks and landfilled toxic sludge dumped a generation before I was born.
Mostly what you lose with time, in memory, is the specificity of things, their exact sequence. It all runs together, becomes a watery soup. Portmanteau days, imploded years. Like a bad actor, memory always goes for effect, abjuring motivation, consistency, good sense.
A Jewish woman had two chickens. One got sick, so the woman made chicken soup out of the other one to help the sick one get well.
I'm a whitebread cracker. That's my favorite white person slur: "whitebread". The other day, someone came up to me and said, "What's up, whitebread?" And I was like, "That's not even an insult. That's just my race plus a food. I can do that, too, black bean soup! Stay out of this, Asian chicken platter!"
I'd worked on a series of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul books called The Real Deal for HCI books, which featured essays and poems from teens.Finding the right authors for the series has been no easy feat, mostly because I'm looking for a perfect blend of a teen girl with an interesting story or hook, fantastic writing talent, and the confidence to commit to writing a 30,000+ word book in a matter of months. It's a huge commitment and I recognize that, so the fit has to be there from all these different angles.
I'm sick of Soup Of The Day, man. It's time we make a decision. I need to know what Soup From Now On is.
In the beginning, in the time that was no time, nothing existed but the Womb. And the Womb was a limitless dark cauldron of all things in potential: a chaotic blood-soup of matter and energy, fluid as water yet mud-solid with salts of the earth; red-hot as fire yet restlessly churning and bubbling with all the winds. And the Womb was the Mother, before She took form and gave form to Existence. She was the Deep. . . .
From time immemorial, soups and broths have been the worldwide medium for utilizing what we call the kitchen byproducts or as the French call them, the 'dessertes de la table' (leftovers), or 'les parties interieures de la bete', such as head, tail, lights, liver, knuckles and feet.
Many of the delicious soups you eat in French homes and little restaurants are made just this way, with a leek-and-potato base to which leftover vegetables or sauces and a few fresh items are added.
Waiters will always pee in soup, people will always fall in love.
Soup's on and I got a coupon. Chinese restaurant asking for the Grey Poupon. He said "No, duck sauce, soy sauce... And this ain't no Burger King, so you no get no toy, boss."
Marriage is commonly a meal wherein the soup is better than the desert.
Tibby cried into her soup when it finally came. "I'm scared... ," she told it. The carrots and peas made no reply, but she felt better for having told them.
When I was having that alphabet soup, I never thought that it would pay off.
I did my famous cabbage soup diet, so I was able to do it.
It's gonna be a lot of zeroes in that contract. You gonna think it's alphabet soup or something, all those zeroes in there.
Making war or rebellion is messy, like eating soup off a knife.
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