Khorasan Flour Quotes

Toast is when you take a piece of bread - What is bread? Bread is when you take some flour - What is flour? We'll skip that part, it's too complicated. Bread is something you can eat, made from a ground-up plant and shaped like a stone. You cook it ... Please, why do you cook it? Why don't you just eat the plant? Never mind that part - Pay attention. You cook it, and then you cut it into slices, and you put a slice into a toaster, which is a metal box that heats up with electricity - What is electricity? Don't worry about that. While the slice is in the toaster, you get out the ... ~ Margaret Atwood

Then she bit into the pie.
It was all those tastes she remembered from before. Fatty, doughy flour crust. Cheese. Spices and flavors that spoke of foreign Dry World places. And, she supposed, the overwhelming taste of onion. Green, and not unlike certain seaweeds. But stronger.
The baker just watched her as she chewed and enjoyed.
Ariel stopped. Didn't people eat the things they paid for?
She looked around and saw that no one else was gulping down their treats immediately. There went the old Ariel again. Impulsive. ~ Liz Braswell

If deep-frying catfish, try a dredge of seasoned flour and cornmeal and add some bacon fat to the oil. ~ Tom Douglas

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb's leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. "You stupid," she told him, "you scared the baby," but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too. ~ George R R Martin

Living life with a smile is like throwing yeast into a bowl of flour, adding warm water and waiting for the flour to rise. It multiplies may times over. ~ John Templeton

Flour is so essential to cakes, you know. ~ L.M. Montgomery

She wore a simple purple long-sleeved turtleneck, but streaks of white across her chest - flour perhaps? - distracted him, made him want to volunteer for cleanup duty. ~ Melissa McClone

There are no tarts in there, Charles. They were much too expensive, and Mr. Jenkins would not be reasonable. I told him I would buy a whole dozen, but he would not reduce the price by so much as a penny, so I refused to buy even one-on principle. Do you know," she confided with a chuckle, "last week when he saw me coming into his shop he hid behind the flour sacks?"
"He's a coward!" Charles said, grinning, for it was a known fact among tradesmen and shopkeepers that Elizabeth Cameron pinched a shilling until it squeaked, and that when it came to bargaining for price-which it always did with her-they rarely came out the winner. Her intellect, not her beauty, was her greatest asset in these transactions, for she could not only add and multiply in her head, but she was so sweetly reasonable, and so inventive when she listed her reasons for expecting a better price, that she either wore out her opponents or confused them into agreeing with her ~ Judith McNaught

Thoughtful white people know they are inferior to black people. Anyone who has studied the genetic phase of biology knows that white is considered recessive and black is considered dominant. When you want strong coffee, you ask for black coffee. If you want it light, you want it weak, integrated with white milk. Just like these Negroes who weaken themselves and their race by this integrating and intermixing with whites. If you want bread with no nutritional value, you ask for white bread. All the good that was in it has been bleached out of it, and it will constipate you. If you want pure flour, you ask for dark flour, whole-wheat flour. If you want pure sugar, you want dark sugar. ~ Malcolm X

yolks well and add milk and cream. Mix and sift dry ingredients and add to first mixture. Fold in egg whites which have been beaten until stiff. APPLE SAUCE CAKE 1 Cup Sugar ½ Cup Shortening 1 ¾ Cups Flour 1 Cup Warm Apple Sauce 1 Teaspoon Baking Soda ½ ~ Mary Jo Montanye

Was she conscious of her talent? Hardly. If asked about her cooking, Grandma would look down at her hands which some glorious instinct sent on journeys to be gloved in flour, or to plumb disencumbered turkeys, wrist-deep in search of their animal souls. Her gray eyes blinked from spectacles warped by forty years of oven blasts and blinded with strewing of pepper and sage, so she sometimes flung cornstarch over steaks, amazingly tender, succulent steaks! And sometimes dropped apricots into meat loaves, cross-pollinated meats, herbs, fruits, vegetables with no prejudice, no tolerance for recipe or formula, save that at the final moment of delivery, mouths watered, blood thundered in response. Her hands then, like the hands of Great-grandma before her, were Grandma's mystery, delight, and life. She looked at them in astonishment, but let them live their life in the way they must absolutely lead it. ~ Ray Bradbury

When I get to the end of what I'm saying, I have to believe in my having said it, that's often all that's needed just as water, flour, and yeast make bread. ~ Jose Saramago

I'll just hang upside down from the wire banana and throw bags of flour at the librarians. ~ Lissa Evans

What i'm trying to tell you," Min said, "is that im going to grow up to be one of those chubby old ladies. It's in my genes. Like self raising flour. i'm going to pouf."
"thats going to work out well for me," Cal said. "because i'm going to grow up to be one of those horny old men who chases chubby old ladies around the couch. ~ Jennifer Crusie

After sending Bella a Christmas card for years with no response, a few years before I'd decided to add something more personal- one of Mum's recipes. I had included various Christmas recipes each year since, from gingerbread to chocolate and cranberry brownies- Bella's favorite as a child. I saw these as a reminder of the good times we'd shared and hoped she'd feel the same. Just writing down those recipes reminded me of Mum in her kitchen- the soft, wobbly fold of flour into butter, the grit of sugar, the heady fragrance of chocolate, sweet vanilla and the warmth of ginger. ~ Sue Watson

jenna had felt sexy-funny, like lucille ball with flour streaks on her face, a crumb-covered apron that didn't exactly flatter her, and yet nick had kissed her like a prom king falling for the reinvented girl in a movie. ~ Emily Franklin

They had always been accustomed to eat a great deal of smoked sausage, and how could they know that what they bought in America was not the same - that its color was made by chemicals, and its smoky flavor by more chemicals, and that it was full of "potato flour" besides? Potato flour is the waste of potato after the starch and alcohol have been extracted; it has no more food value than so much wood, and as its use as a food adulterant is a penal offense in Europe, thousands of tons of it are shipped to America every year. It was amazing what quantities of food such as this were needed every day, by eleven hungry persons. A ~ Upton Sinclair

Look at you, with freshly baked muffins, and I'm the one dressed like a 1950s housewife," said Madeline. "I love the idea of baking, but then I can't seem to make it a reality, I never seem to have all the ingredients. How do you manage to have all that flour and sugar and, I don't know, vanilla extract?"

"Well," said Jane, "I buy them. From this place called a supermarket."

"I suppose you make a list," said Madeline. "And then you remember to take the list with you."

Jane saw that Madeline's feelings about Jane's baking were similar to Jane's feelings about Madeline's accessories: confused admiration for an exotic behavior. ~ Liane Moriarty

SQUATS, Clementine! And don't stop until class is over. You legs look like they'd snap under the weight of a sack of flour. How do you walk around on those things?"
"I don't know, Professor. One foot in front of the other, I guess. ~ Christine Manzari

Beyond this point on the river Cambridge became a kind of miniature Venice, its river water lapping up against the ancient stone of college walls, here mottled and reddened brick, there white stone. Stained, lichened, softened by water light. Here the river became a great north-south tunnel, a gothic castle from the river, flanked by locked iron gates, steps leading nowhere, labyrinths, trapdoors, landing stages where barges had unloaded their freight: crates of fine wines, flour, oats, candles, fine meats carried into the damp darkness of college cellars. ~ Rebecca Stott

You're like a Boy Scout, huh?"

It's my attempt at flirting - probably only slightly less effective than Dirty Dancing's "I carried a watermelon."

He does the mouth-quirk thing again.

"Not even close."

There's a bad-boy edge in the way he says it - a heavy hint of the forbidden - that gets my heart pounding and my jaw eager to drop.

To cover my reaction, I nod vigorously.

"Right, me neither . . . Never been a - "

Too vigorously.

So vigorously that my elbow slips in the flour on the counter and I almost knock myself unconscious. But Logan's not only big and brawny - he's quick. Fast enough to catch me by the arm and waist to steady me before I bash the side of my head against the butcher block.

"Are you all right, Ellie?"

He leans down, looking at me intently - a look I'll see in my dreams tonight . . . assuming I can sleep. And, wow, Logan has great eyelashes. Thick and lengthy and midnight black. I bet they're not the only part of him that's thick and lengthy.

My gaze darts down to his promised land, where his pants are just tight enough to confirm my suspicions - this bodyguard may have a service revolver in his pocket, but he's got a magnum in his pants.

Yum.

"Yeah, I'm good." I sigh. "Just . . . you know . . . tired. But I'm cool . . . totally cool."

And I shake it off, like I actually am ~ Emma Chase

Examining this water ... I found floating therein divers earthy particles, and some green streaks, spirally wound serpent-wise ... and I judge that some of these little creatures were above a thousand times smaller than the smallest ones I have ever yet seen, upon the rind of cheese, in wheaten flour, mould, and the like. ~ Antonie Van Leeuwenhoek

I wished that my job was baking muffins in a muffin shop, where all I'd have to do was crack eggs and measure flour and make change, and nobody could abuse me, and where they'd even expect me to be fat. Every flab roll and cellulite crinkle would serve as testimony to the excellence of my baked goods ~ Jennifer Weiner

I have these brownies that I make that are just a home run with my family. I make them with almond butter, prune puree, walnuts, cocoa powder and whole-wheat flour, and I like them because they're delicious, but they're also guilt-free. ~ Tia Mowry

She didn't understand love, not the golden, shimmering, romance-novel stuff that existed between mates. She was skeptical of it, and had never been one to pretend that it existed just for the sake of excitement. She didn't know what it looked like, what it felt like…at least, she hadn't. But she realized, amid the dancing tendrils of ivy that climbed the gazebo, that love – that good, golden kind she'd always discounted – didn't arrive with a blast of trumpets and an earth-shattering epiphany. It was earned, formed, created, day by day, a little at a time. And it looked like Mike eating toast over her kitchen sink, felt like his hand smoothing her hair back off her face, sounded like his sudden shout of laughter when she spilled a whole sack of flour out of the top cabinet down onto her head in his kitchen, tasted like the kiss he used to make up for it. ~ Lauren Gilley

Is power like the vis viva and the quantite d'avancement? That is, is it conserved by the universe, or is it like shares of a stock, which may have great value one day, and be worthless the next? If power is like stock shares, then it follows that the immense sum thereof lately lost by B[olingbroke] has vanished like shadows in sunlight. For no matter how much wealth is lost in stock crashes, it never seems to turn up, but if power is conserved, then B's must have gone somewhere. Where is it? Some say 'twas scooped up by my Lord R, who hid it under a rock, lest my Lord M come from across the sea and snatch it away. My friends among the Whigs say that any power lost by a Tory is infallibly and insensibly distributed among all the people, but no matter how assiduously I search the lower rooms of the clink for B's lost power, I cannot seem to find any there, which explodes that argument, for there are assuredly very many people in those dark salons. I propose a novel theory of power, which is inspired by . . . the engine for raising water by fire. As a mill makes flour, a loom makes cloth and a forge makes steel, so we are assured this engine shall make power. If the backers of this device speak truly, and I have no reason to deprecate their honesty, it proves that power is not a conserved quantity, for of such quantities, it is never possible to make more. The amount of power in the world, it follows, is ever increasing, and the rate of increase grows ever faster as more of the ~ Neal Stephenson

Analysis kills spontaneity. The grain once ground into flour springs and germinates no more. ~ Henri Frederic Amiel

People get so caught in how they don't like one part of themselves; nose, thighs, tummy, whatever.
Things like flour and baking powder go into cakes and those things are gross alone, but the cake is pretty damn delicious. ~ Todd El Holley

Clean your face," I said to the child. "It's dirty." "It's not," the child said. "By God it is," I said, "filth adheres in ine areas which I shall enumerate." "That is because of the dough," the child said. "We were taking death masks." "Dough!" I exclaimed, shocked at the idea that the child had wasted flour and water and no doubt paper too in this lightsome pastime, taking death masks. "Death!" I exclaimed for added emphasis. "What do you know of death?" "It is the end of the world," the child said, "for the death-visited individual. The world ends," the child said, "when you turn out your eyes." This was true, I could not dispute it. I returned to the main point. "Your father is telling you to wash your face," I said, locating myself in the abstract where I was more comfortable. ~ Donald Barthelme

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in switch licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So Priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke ~ Geoffrey Chaucer

How come when you mix water and flour together you get glue ... and then you add eggs and sugar and you get cake? Where does the glue go? ~ Rita Rudner

One will starve to death with just as much certainty and much more speedily, if one attempts to live upon foods containing only one or two elements of nutrition, as if one were totally abstaining from food. A diet of white flour and water, or white sugar and water, will result in death much sooner than a diet of water only. If no food is eaten the body feeds upon its own food reserves, but it has no provision for meeting the exigencies created by prolonged subsistence on one-sided diets. ~ Herbert M. Shelton

Your flour is your dream and your bread is your fulfillment. The environment in which your flour is baked can influence the shape of your bread ... Just take it as simple as that! ~ Israelmore Ayivor

With the money my mother earned from selling cakes, my father cut a deal with Mangochi and bought one pail of maize. My mother took it to the mill, saved half the flour for us, and used the rest for more cakes. We did this every day, taking enough to eat and selling the rest. It was enough to provide our one blob of nsima each night, along with some pumpkin leaves. It was practically nothing, yet knowing it would be there somehow made the hunger less painful.
"As long as we can stay in business," my father said, "we'll make it through. Our profit is that we live. ~ William Kamkwamba

The village had a mill near it, situated on the little creek, which made very good flour. The population consisted of civilized Indians, but much mixed blood. ~ Zebulon Pike

Sonnet XII

Full woman, fleshly apple, hot moon,
thick smell of seaweed, crushed mud and light,
what obscure brilliance opens between your columns?
What ancient night does a man touch with his senses?

Loving is a journey with water and with stars,
with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour:
loving is a clash of lightning-bolts
and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.

Kiss by kiss I move across your small infinity,
your borders, your rivers, your tiny villages,
and the genital fire transformed into delight

runs through the narrow pathways of the blood
until it plunges down, like a dark carnation,
until it is and is no more than a flash in the night. ~ Pablo Neruda

From the railway station far away the sharp clang of a bell...In half an hour the train starts, and there is so much still to say that has been left unsaid...The mothers, fearful and fussy, look for their sons in among the crowd like hens in search of their chicks; their wizened faces are hard and wrinkled like winter apples, they carry huge baskets on their arms, over-filled with the last delicacies which their fond, toil-worn hands will prepare for the beloved son for the next three years:--a piece of smoked bacon, a loaf of rye bread, a cake of maize-flour.

The gypsies have struck up a melancholy Magyar folksong: the crowd breaks up in isolated groups, mothers and father with their sons whisper in the dark corners of the bran. The father who did his service thirty years ago gives sundry good advice - no rebellion, quiet obedience, no use complaining or grumbling, the three years are quickly over. The mother begs her darling not to give way to drink, and not to get entangled with one of the hussies in the towns; women and wine, the two besetting temptations that assail the Magyar peasant - let the darling boy resist both for his sorrowing mother's sake. ~ Emmuska Orczy