Browsing Topic Best Forks Quotes

I’m just me. If I am sexy, it’s just something I do naturally, like picking up a knife and fork to eat. I think people who try to be sexy are the most unsexy people in the world.

Violence begins with the fork.

It’s a beautiful descent in a 737, into the Bitterroot Valley, following the Clark Fork River, on a perfect golden autumn day.

Blaming guns for murder is like blaming forks for obesity.

Jealousy always has been my cross, the weakness and woundedness in me that has most often caused me to feel ugly and unlovable, like the Bad Seed. I’ve had many years of recovery and therapy, years filled with intimate and devoted friendships, yet I still struggle. I know that when someone gets a big slice of pie, it doesn’t mean there’s less for me. In fact, I know that there isn’t even a pie, that there’s plenty to go around, enough food and love and air. But I don’t believe it for a second. I secretly believe there’s a pie. I will go to my grave brandishing my fork.

There is a lot of talk now about metal detectors and gun control. Both are good things. But they are no more a solution than forks and spoons are a solution to world hunger.

Every life has forks in the road. And sometimes, the tines of that fork stab deep.

Zerts’ are what I call desserts. ‘Trée-trées’ are entrées. I call sandwiches ‘sammies,’ ‘sandoozles,’ or ‘Adam Sandlers.’ Air conditioners are ‘cool blasterz’ with a ‘z’ – I don’t know where that came from. I call cakes ‘big ol’ cookies.’ I call noodles ‘long-ass rice.’ Fried chicken is ‘fry-fry chicky-chick.’ Chicken parm is ‘chicky-chicky-parm-parm.’ Chicken cacciatore? ‘Chicky-cacc.’ I call eggs ‘pre-birds,’ or ‘future birds.’ Root beer is ‘super water.’ Tortillas are ‘bean blankets.’ And I call forks ‘food rakes.’

If you see someone lying out knives and forks consistently, but then one day those knives and forks become weapons you’re not sure if he does that as a warrior, that’s just his thing.

Hunter Pence eats pizza with a fork.

The sky was of the deepest blue, with a few white, fleecy clouds drifting lazily across it, and the air was filled with the low drone of insects or with a sudden sharper note as bee or bluefly shot past with its quivering, long-drawn hum, like an insect tuning-fork.

When my parents were liberated, four years before I was born, they found that the ordinary world outside the camp had been eradicated. There was no more simple meal, no thing was less than extraordinary: a fork, a mattress, a clean shirt, a book. Not to mention such things that can make one weep: an orange, meat and vegetables, hot water. There was no ordinariness to return to, no refuge from the blinding potency of things, an apple screaming its sweet juice.

One of the most essential and mundane of human activities – taking care of children – requires high levels of anxious vigilance. … [Parents] dare not risk assuming that the sudden quiet from the toddlers’ room means they are studying with Baby Einstein. Visualize fratricidal stranglings and electric outlets stabbed with forks: this is how we have reproduced our genomes.

If it was raining soup, the Irish would go out with forks.

Has it ever occurred to you that one hundred pianos all tuned to the same fork are automatically tuned to each other? They are of one accord by being tuned, not to each other, but to another standard to which each one must individually bow. So one hundred worshipers met together, each one looking away to Christ, are in heart nearer to each other than they could possibly be, were they to become ‘unity’ conscious and turn their eyes away from God to strive for closer fellowship.

Anything you make has its own wavelength and its own sound. It’s like a tuning fork, until the things that resonate are correct for it.

Of all the works of man I like best Those which have been used. The copper pots with their dents and flattened edges The knives and forks whose wooden handles Have been worn away by many hands: such forms Seemed to me the noblest.

Spirit is not a mystic concept. The spirit of a person is manifest in her aliveness, brightness of his eyes, in the resonance of her voice and in the ease and gracefulness of his movements. These qualities are related to and stem from a high level of energy in the body… Sensing the harmony between the internal pulsation of our body and that in the universe, we feel identified with the universal, with God. We are like tuning forks vibrating at the same pitch

A lot of people don’t have much food on their table. But they got a lot of forks ‘n knives. And they got to cut somethin’.

What is this? he went on now, spearing an unfortunate object on a fork and raising it to eye level. This… this… thing? A parsnip? Jem suggested. A parsnip planted in Satan’s own garden. said Will. He glanced about. I don’t suppose there’s a dog I could feed it to. There don’t seem to be any pets about, Jem—who loved all animals, even the inglorious and ill-tempered Church—observed. Probably all poisoned by parsnips, said Will.

All knives and forks were working away at a rate that was quite alarming; very few words were spoken; and everybody seemed to eat his utmost, in self defence, as if a famine were expected to set in before breakfast-time to-morrow morning, and it had become high time to assert the first law of nature.

He gazed amusedly down the table at Tessa. You’re the shape-changer, aren’t you? he said. Magnus Bane told me about you. No mark on you at all, they say. Tessa swallowed and looked him straight in the eye. They were discordantly human eyes, ordinary in his extraordinary face. No. No mark. He grinned around his fork. I do suppose they’ve looked everywhere? I’m sure Will’s tried, said Jessamine in a bored tone.

Can you have more than one major MISSION pervading your life? NO. That would be like coming to a fork in the road and trying to go both ways by straddling it.

Never count your chickens before you can stick a fork into them.

I was forced to go to Cotillion when I was in seventh grade. So I learned what fork is what and dance steps.

He’d felt like a jack-o-lantern for the past few days, as if his guts had been yanked out with a fork and dumped in a heap while a grinning smile stayed plastered on his face.

I have a plan. He groaned. I was afraid of that. My plans are not terrible. Isabelle’s plans are terrible. He pointed a finger at her. Your plans are suicidal. At best. She sat back, her arms crossed over her chest. Do you want to hear it or not? You have to keep it a secret. I would pluck out my own eyes with a fork before I would give away your secrets, Simon said, then looked anxious. Wait a second. Do you think that’s likely to be required?

When people ask me which I would rather give up, writing or medicine, it’s like being asked which eye I’d prefer to have poked out with a spoon: neither, and please use a fork.

We are not living in a world where all roads are radii if a circle and where all, if followed long enough, will therefore draw gradually nearer and finally meet at the centre: rather in a world where every road, after a few miles, forks into two, and each of those into two again, and at each fork you must make a decision.

She saved my life…and I’ve ruined hers. They sat in silence for a full minute, the air between them growing heavy, as if they both wanted to speak, and yet had nothing to say. They were strangers, after all, on a brief and bizarre journey that had just reached a fork in the road, each of them now needing to find seperate paths.

It is not elegant to gnaw Indian corn. The kernels should be scored with a knife, scraped off into the plate, and then eaten with a fork. Ladies should be particularly careful how they manage so ticklish a dainty, lest the exhibition rub off a little desirable romance.

My mom was crazy. And her mom was crazy. And her mom’s mom was crazy. Is it my turn? Am I going to live the rest of my life giggling at raindrops, wearing paper slippers ? When I go to dinner with friends, should I not use a fork ’cause I just might snap? Hey, you guys look great. How’s the baby?

Playing without the fundamentals is like eating without a knife and fork. You make a mess.

Artists are tuning forks. Their goal is to create resonance in the audience.

Driving down the wrong road and knowing it, The fork years behind, how many have thought To pull up on the shoulder and leave the car Empty, strike out across the fields; and how many Are still mazed among dock and thistle, Seeking the road they should have taken?