Forkful Quotes

Ren grinned. "So ... you and lady tigers, eh? Is there something you want share, Kishan?"
Kishan shoved a forkful of dinner into his mouth and mumbled, "How about I share my fist with your face?"
"Wow. Sensitive, I'm sure your lady tiger friends were all very attractive. So am I an uncle? ~ Colleen Houck

In the end, I always want potatoes. Mashed potatoes. Nothing like mashed potatoes when you're feeling blue. Nothing like getting into bed with a bowl of hot mashed potatoes already loaded with butter, and methodically adding a thin cold slice of butter to every forkful. The problem with mashed potatoes, though, is that they require almost as much hard work as crisp potatoes, and when you're feeling blue the last thing you feel like is hard work. Of course, you can always get someone to make the mashed potatoes for you, but let's face it: the reason you're blue is that there isn't anyone to make them for you. ~ Nora Ephron

I didn't actually think you were hanging out at Hex Hall because of your burning love for me. But that's what I'm telling all the girls back at school," I said, stabbing a forkful of eggs. "I'm thinking 'heartbreaker' might be a nice addition to my 'avenging witch' reputation. ~ Rachel Hawkins

My favorite of all was still the place on Vermont, the French cafe, La Lyonnaise, that had given me the best onion soup on that night with George and my father. The two owners hailed from France, from Lyon, before the city had boomed into a culinary sibling of Paris. Inside, it had only a few tables, and the waiters served everything out of order, and it had a B rating in the window, and they usually sat me right by the swinging kitchen door, but I didn't care about any of it.
There, I ordered chicken Dijon, or beef Bourguignon, or a simple green salad, or a pate sandwich, and when it came to the table, I melted into whatever arrived. I lavished in a forkful of spinach gratin on the side, at how delighted the chef had clearly been over the balance of spinach and cheese, like she was conducting a meeting of spinach and cheese, like a matchmaker who knew they would shortly fall in love. Sure, there were small distractions and preoccupations in it all, but I could find the food in there, the food was the center, and the person making the food was so connected with the food that I could really, for once, enjoy it. ~ Aimee Bender

So what's going on with you and your boyfriend?" Eli asked me right before he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth during breakfast the next morning.

I made a face in the direction of my plate before shooting a glance upward to find Gordo's eyes on me, a smirk on his face.

"Mason?" I asked, going back to my food.

Eli made a gagging noise, elbowing me hard in the ribs. "I'm not gonna go into details on how disturbing it is that I say 'your boyfriend' and you automatically think of fucking Mase."

"He's always calling me his wife, or telling people I don't know that we're getting married," I replied, elbowing him back as hard as he got me. It was partially the truth… but mostly, I didn't want to talk about the man who had been kissing my shoulder hours ago.

"I love Mase, but it'll be a sunny day in my asshole before you and him get together," he mumbled.

I snorted, biting into my biscuit. "Who the heck else would you be talking about?" I asked, but I knew. Oh, I knew damn well he was referring to Sacha.

Freaking Gordo snickered from across the table before putting his hands up in surrender when I glared at him. "I didn't say anything."

"Sacha, Flabby. Sacha. Your boyfriend. Your snuggle bug." Eliza finally answered.

Suddenly the half-eaten biscuit on my plate needed to be eaten immediately. I shoved the entire piece into my mouth to avoid the conversation my brother was trying t ~ Mariana Zapata

You're right, Jeff did," Sweet ruefully conceded, as he tossed a forkful ~ James J. Griffin

Sirine puts a forkful of sweet potatoes into her mouth. The potatoes are soft as velvet, the gravy satiny. It is as if she can taste the life inside all those ingredients: the stem that the cranberries grew on, the earth inside the bread, even the warm blood inside the turkey. It comes back to her, the small secret that was always hers, for years, the only truth she seemed to possess- that food was better than love: surer, truer, more satisfying and enriching. As long as she could lose herself in the rhythms of peeling an onion, she was complete and whole. And as long as she could cook, she would be loved. ~ Diana Abu-Jaber

You can tell someone to stop saying nasty things about your best friend a hundred times," she mused over a forkful of pasta. "But you only have to rip their tongue out once. ~ Craig Schaefer

Isn't this the weekend of Xander Eckhart's party?"

"Yes." Jordan held her breath in a silent plea. Don't ask if I'm bringing anyone. Don't ask if I'm bringing anyone.

"So are you bringing anyone?" Melinda asked.

Foiled.

Having realized there was a distinct possibility the subject would come up, Jordan had spent some time running through potential answers to this very question. She had decided that being casual was the best approach. "Oh, there's this guy I met a few days ago, and I was thinking about asking him." She shrugged. "Or maybe I'll just go by myself, who knows."

Melinda put down her forkful of gnocchi, zoning in on this like a heat-seeking missile to its target. "What guy you met a few days ago? And why is this the first we're hearing of him?"

"Because I just met him a few days ago."

Corinne rubbed her hands together, eager for the details. "So? Tell us. How'd you meet him?"

"What does he do?" Melinda asked.

"Nice, Melinda. You're so shallow." Corinne turned back to Jordan. "Is he hot?"

Of course, Jordan had known there would be questions. The three of them had been friends since college and still saw each other regularly despite busy schedules, and this was what they did. Before Corinne had gotten married, they talked about her now-husband, Charles. The same was true of Melinda and her soon-to-be-fiancé, Pete. So Jordan knew that she, in turn, was expected ~ Julie James

Ward, do you think we'll have time to ride this afternoon? I'd love to go over some of the old trails with you," Erica asked, smiling at him over the assortment of pastries and wedding cake in the lodge's dining room.
Ward fought the urge to growl his reply that he had an even better idea. He'd love to stuff her into Ralph Cummins's taxi, slam the door, and instruct Ralph to hit the gas and not slow down until he reached Palo Alto, where Erica was currently living. Once the taxi was out of sight, he'd go down to the bottom of the road to Silver Creek Ranch and lock the gates. With a padlock.
Instead, he shoveled in a forkful of the wedding cake Roo had baked and pretended not to hear. He'd been doing a lot of that. ~ Laura Moore

Josh and Rashmi are making out-I can actually see tongue-so I turn to my bread and grapes.How biblical of me.
The grapes are smaller than I'm used to, and the skin is slightly textured. Is that dirt? I dip my napkin in water and dab at the tiny purple globes. It helps, but they're still sort of rough. Hmm. St. Clair and Meredith stop talking. I glance up to find them staring at me in matching bemusement. "What?"
"Nothing," he says. "Continue your grape bath."
"They were dirty."
"Have you tried one?" she asks.
"No,they've still got these little mud flecks." I hold one up to show them. St. Clair plucks it from my fingers and pops it into his mouth.I'm hypnotized by his lips, his throat, as he swallows.
I hesitate. Would I rather have clean food or his good opinion?
He picks up another and smiles. "Open up."
I open up.
The grape brushes my lower lip as he slides it in. It explodes in my mouth, and I'm so startled by the juice that I nearly spit it out. The flavor is intense, more like grape candy than actual fruit. To say I've tasted nothing like it before is an understatement. Meredith and St. Clair laugh. "Wait until you try them as wine," she says.
St. Clair twirls a forkful of pasta. "So. How was French class?"
The abrupt subject change makes me shudder. "Professeur Gillet is scary. She's all frown lines." I tear off a piece of baguette. The crust crackles, and the inside is light and springy. Oh,man. I shove another hun ~ Stephanie Perkins

I want you to be happy. Eat it."
A wry smile curved Rose's lips. "Am I to find happiness in a piece of chocolate cake?"
Eve already had a forkful en route to her mouth. "I stake my reputation on it."
"Oh," she replied dryly. "Surely heaven is just a bite away."
"Speaking of heaven," Eve said a few minutes later when Rose thought she might expire from the bliss the dessert inspired, "tell me about your evening at Saint's Row."
"Shh!" Her paranoid gaze darted around to see if anyone had overheard, but there was no one standing close enough to their whitewashed bench.
"Don't shush me, Rose Danvers. I'm your best friend and you've kept me waiting four whole days! I demand details."
Cheeks flushed, Rose stared at the half-eaten cake on her plate. Eve's timing might leave something to be desired, but at least she'd stopped Rose from eating the entire slice.
"What do you want to know?"
Eve's expression was incredulous. "Everything, of course." Then, as though realizing who she was talking to, she sighed. "Did you find him?"
Rose nodded. "I did." The fire in her cheeks burned hotter, and she looked away. "Oh, Eve!"
Her friend grabbed her wrist, clattering fork against plate. "That arse didn't hurt you did he?"
"No!" Then lowering her voice, "And he's not an arse." Using such rough language made her feel daring and bold.
The scowl on Eve's face eased. "Then…he was good to you?"
Rose nodded, leaning closer. "It was ~ Kathryn Smith

You don't have to apologize," Treston said. "I know where I work, I know what I do to make a living, and I know it's not the most respectable place in Vegas. But frankly, Chad, if you don't mind my saying so, I think you have a lot to learn about good manners."
Chad blinked. "What do you mean?"
Treston reached for his wine glass, finished off what was left to wash down the last forkful of chewy escargot, and said, "All I'm saying is you haven't stopped harping about that blond, and I have to tell you it's getting a little tired now. Seriously, man. It's a little insulting, too." He leaned forward, looked into Chad's eyes, and held his hand. "Look, I know how hard it is for selfish men like you to understand empathy. Lord knows I've been with enough of them. ~ Ryan Field