Mortensens Danish Bakery Quotes

With the heady scent of yeast in the air, it quickly becomes clear that Langer's hasn't changed at all. The black-and-white-checked linoleum floor, the tin ceiling, the heavy brass cash register, all still here. The curved-front glass cases with their wood counter, filled with the same offerings: the butter cookies of various shapes and toppings, four kinds of rugelach, mandel bread, black-and-white cookies, and brilliant-yellow smiley face cookies. Cupcakes, chocolate or vanilla, with either chocolate or vanilla frosting piled on thick. Brownies, with or without nuts. Cheesecake squares. Coconut macaroons. Four kinds of Danish. The foil loaf pans of the bread pudding made from the day-old challahs. And on the glass shelves behind the counter, the breads. Challahs, round with raisins and braided either plain or with sesame. Rye, with and without caraway seeds. Onion kuchen, sort of strange almost-pizza-like bread that my dad loves, and the smaller, puffier onion rolls that I prefer. Cloverleaf rolls. Babkas. The wood-topped cafe tables with their white chairs, still filled with the little gossipy ladies from the neighborhood, who come in for their mandel bread and rugelach, for their Friday challah and Sunday babka, and take a moment to share a Danish or apple dumpling and brag about grandchildren. ~ Stacey Ballis

Helen lifted the lid, her eyes widening as she discovered a treasure trove of caramels, jelly creams, candied fruit, toffees and marshmallow drops, all wrapped in twists of waxed paper. Her wondering gaze traveled to the nearby mountain of accumulating delicacies... smoked Wiltshire ham and collar bacon, a box of dry-cured salmon, pots of imported Danish butter, tinned sweetbreads, and a sack of fat glossed dates. There was a basket of hothouse fruits, wheels of Brie in papery white rinds, cunning little cheeses wrapped in netting jars of rich fig paste, pickled quail eggs, bottles of jewel-colored fruit liqueur meant to be sipped from tiny glasses, and a gold-colored tin of cocoa essence. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Life was a cake that looked good on the bakery shelf but turned to sawdust and salt when I ate it. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

That was totally different from what the Danes did. When the Germans approached them rather cautiously about introducing the yellow badge, they were simply told that the King would be the first to wear it, and the Danish government officials were careful to point out that anti-Jewish measures of any sort would cause their own immediate resignation. It was decisive in this whole matter that the Germans did not even succeed in introducing the vitally important distinction between native Danes of Jewish origin, of whom there were about sixty-four hundred, and the fourteen hundred German Jewish refugees who had found asylum in the country prior to the war and who now had been declared stateless by the German government. ~ Hannah Arendt

I looked up to see the sun struggling behind a gray mass of snow clouds.
I could relate.
And then a beam of sunlight found a way through. A sign? Maybe.
But what was this? I gasped. The bakery esters had refracted into visible bands of flavor.
Red raspberry, orange, and the yellow of lemon and butter.
Pistachio, lime, and mint green.
The deepest indigo of a fresh blueberry
The violet that blooms when crushed blackberries blend into buttercream.
The Roy G. Biv that a baker loves.
And then the darkness: chocolate, spice, coffee, and burnt-sugar caramel. ~ Judith Fertig

This danish is too sweetish to finish. ~ Lorrie Moore

In a way, all Scandinavian movies are descendants of the original Scandinavian Christian-metaphor movie, Danish director Carl Dreyer's 1928 'The Passion of Joan of Arc,' one of the seven or eight best films ever made and impossible to watch more than once. ~ Steve Erickson

Remember: Danes are direct descendants of Vikings, so we enjoy watching things burn: bonfires, candles, villages. It's all good. ~ Meik Wiking

In 'A Royal Affair' I had to learn to act like a queen and learned Danish. It's so much different to act in another language. It's the nuances in the words. ~ Alicia Vikander

Carrie, sitting there over your coffee cup in a wasteland of worn-out silver wedding rings, feeding yourself confections of motherhood like the display cakes in the bakery where you worked- all trimming over cardboard. ~ Rita Mae Brown

I was watching the Danish version of 'The Killing' when I got the audition for 'The Fall,' and I loved it; it was so original. I approached 'The Fall' with that in mind. I'd no problem with the violence - it was very clear from the script how horrifying the crimes were and that had to be shown, without going to extremes. ~ Laura Donnelly

In a world that has essentially turned away from racism, it is shocking to me that the color of the skin of the bakery owners should still matter to anyone. ~ Brian Yap

God gives all birds their food,
but does not drop it into their nests ~ Danish Proverb.

As we read through this small pile of correspondence, a curious duplicity gradually emerges. In their language, the letters are among Kierkegaard's most outstanding achievements so far as a writer. The pen no longer pauses with the ink bleeding onto the paper; the creaky Latin syntax that once could force Kierkegaard's language into lackluster constructions is here replaced by a beguiling suppleness that lifts the lines from the page. They steal gently around their subject and draw on well-known Danish writers, such as Johannes Ewald, Jens Baggesen, Adam Oehlenschläger, Christian Winter, and Poul Martin Møller. Far from being ordinary communication, these letters are art.
Therein lies the triumph and the tragedy. For the letters, by virtue of their undeniably aesthetic quality, almost cry out to the writer that a husband is not at all what he is to become, but an author. This makes them in effect letters of "farewell that try, with great discretion and an ingenious indirectness, to make the recipient understand that the man who celebrates her up and down the page has long ago vanished from her life because he has lost himself in recollection of her. His love is bound in artifice and imagination, and he has to accept the truth of the situation, that he is in real life unsuited to the married state. From the recollection that gives life to imagination there spreads also the death that parts the lovers. ~ Joakim Garff

My mother worked as a saleslady at the well-known Five Corner bakery in Journal Square during the day. Her orders were that I do at least one page of homework for every one of my subjects before she came home. It didn't matter what my teachers would assign, those were her rules and I didn't dare to violate them! However, I usually allowed others to make the rules and then decide whether I would follow them. Turning on our small Bakelite radio, I would ignore my mother's rules and listen to my favorite adventure shows.
"Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy, Superman, who could leap tall buildings in a single bound, and Tom Mix were my favorite daily half-hour radio programs during the week. Tom Mix was forever solving some mystery that I could help him with, since I had a decoder badge that cost only 10 cents, along with a box top from a Ralston Purina's "Wheat Chex" cereal box. Since it tasted like straw, wanting to get a decoder badge was the only way I would eat this blah cereal for breakfast.
The radio shows were way too exciting, and my homework always took second place. When my mother finally came home and saw that I had not done my work, she would get quite upset and make me do twice as much, seated at the kitchen table where she could keep her eye on me. Being under her direct supervision wasn't much fun, but I would sit there until she was satisfied that I had finished my assignments. My mother showed no mercy! If my father found out about my being lax, ther ~ Hank Bracker

Cities have always offered anonymity, variety, and conjunction, qualities best basked in by walking: one does not have to go into the bakery or the fortune-teller's, only to know that one might. A city always contains more than any inhabitant can know, and a great city always makes the unknown and the possible spurs to the imagination. ~ Rebecca Solnit

A stew of potatoes, kidney beans, and chopped greens and onions simmered atop the small cast-iron range. The appetizing scent filled the cottage and drifted out the open windows. Remembering the many times she had made the dish for her father, Victoria smiled wistfully. Her father had never been a great lover of food, regarding it solely as a necessity for the body rather than something to be enjoyed. On the rare occasions when Victoria had made plum pudding, or brought currant buns from the bakery, he had nibbled at the treats and quickly lost interest. The only times she had ever seen him eat heartily, and with obvious enjoyment, was when she had made vegetable stew. ~ Lisa Kleypas

I worked from 12 to 17, six years in a bakery. I was a pastry cook. ~ Adam Giles

The story of the Danish Jews is sui generis, and the behavior of the Danish people and their government was unique among all the countries of Europe--whether occupied, or a partner of the Axis, or neutral and truly independent. One is tempted to recommend the story as required reading in political science for all students who wish to learn something about the enormous power potential inherent in non-violent action and in resistance to an opponent possessing vastly superior means of violence... It is the only case we know of in which the Nazis met with open native resistance, and the result seems to have been that those exposed to it changed their minds. They themselves apparently no longer looked upon the extermination of a whole people as a matter of course. They had met resistance based on principle, and their 'toughness' had melted like butter in the sun; they had even been able to show a few timid beginnings of genuine courage. ~ Hannah Arendt

The mated males are biased. They want more females here for their own females. Many of the single males will likely have an issue, since it is tradition."
"Well if the single males want more females here, that's the only way to do it. They're only hurting themselves."
His fingers flexed slightly against hers. "Why do you think females would come here, anyway?"
"Why wouldn't they? I knew nothing about this sector and even after my tour I still don't know much about it. Maybe if there was an attraction here - other than the males - it would bring more females."
He straightened and pushed up so that his hands caged her against the headboard. "This facility puts out the best warriors and we do some of the most intense and covert off-world missions. We will not have attractions here like a… carnival."
She blinked, realizing he'd misunderstood her. Unable to stop herself, a giggle escaped.
She cupped the side of his face. Midnight black stubble already covered his jaw. She shivered, remembering the feel of it against her inner thighs not too long ago. "I didn't mean that kind of attraction. I mean, give the females an incentive, like luxury housing or the chance to run a business here. There are so many business opportunities here for women. So far I've only seen one clothing shop and one bakery run by females."
He was silent a long moment as he watched her. "I think I might be biased too."
"How so?"
"Because I want to change ~ Savannah Stuart

The Danish phenomenon "hygge" is about creating an atmosphere that is warm, relaxed, friendly, close, loving, comfortable and welcoming - a state of feeling connected and loved. ~ Iben Dissing Sandahl

You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized she didn't mean me, she meant you!" bursts out Peeta.
"Oh, she meant you," I say with a wave of dismissal.
"She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is," says Peeta.
That pulls me up short. Did his mother really say that about me? Did she rate me over her son? I see the pain in Peeta's eyes and know he isn't lying.
Suddenly I'm behind the bakery and I can feel the chill of the rain running down my back, the hollowness in my belly. I sound eleven years old when I speak. "But only because someone helped me. ~ Suzanne Collins

What kind of God is it who's upset by a cartoon in Danish?
[Interview with Bill Moyers, Bill Moyers on Faith & Reason, June 23, 2006] ~ Salman Rushdie

I reached into my bag and pulled out the macaroons, holding them between us. "Here. These are for you."
He glanced at the white bakery box, his frown even more severe than before. He didn't take the box. "What's in there?"
The look of suspicion made me smile in spite of myself. "Cookies."
"Where'd you get them?"
"I made them."
His expression cleared and he snatched the box from my hands. "You did? What kind?"
"Macaroons."
"Coconut!" He'd ripped open the box with impressive speed, his eyes widening with what looked like elation. "Come to me," he said reverently to the cookies.
"I hate coconut," Derek said conversationally, coming to stand next to me.
"She didn't bring them for you, did she?" Matt said, his head doing an unexpected, sassy bobbing movement.
I rolled my lips between my teeth, breathing through my nose while my eyes bounced between the two men.
"Maybe she will, next time." Derek grinned at me. "I like chocolate."
Matt's eyes cut to mine. "Are you making a mental note? You look like you're making a mental note. Don't. Don't make a mental note. Don't bring him cookies."
"Gentlemen." I pasted on my best professional smile. "I will be happy to bring cookies, to you both, but first I need to see what you've been working on."
"Fine. ~ Penny Reid

So in 1910 a Danish botanist, Wilhelm Johannsen, self-consciously invented the word gene. ~ James Gleick

That's what spies do, right? They walk to the bakery and buy a loaf of bread everyday - perfectly normal - until one day they buy a loaf of uranium instead. ~ Robin Sloan

I wore you on me at all times
Like I now carry my pen.
Unlike your own opinion my
Belongings must have a function.
You bled through the ink of my lines and
To be my subject nursed your thirst.

Was it my fault, or your own, that you forgot
- I do not deal in tender verse. ~ Mie Hansson

But sometimes at the bakery where I work, I'll give someone a loaf of bread-and it answers a need. For a moment, that person is my master. And in that moment, I'm content. If I were as independent as you wish you were, I'd feel I had no purpose at all. ~ Helene Wecker

...and in Wellington women in the bakery trade were able "to perform certain skilled operations for which they are particularly suited, at rate equivalent to two thirds the journeyman's rate". ~ Barbara Brookes

Sonja used to say that Ove was "unforgiving." For instance, he refused to go back to the local bakery eight years after they gave him the wrong change when he bought pastries once at the end of the 1990s. Ove called it "having firm principles." They were never quite in agreement when it came to words and their meanings.
p. 239 ~ Fredrik Backman

Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true. ~ Zach Helm

The idea of a sandwich as a snack goes back to Roman times. Scandinavians perfected the technique with the Danish open-faced sandwich, or smorroebrod, consisting of thinly sliced, buttered bread and many delectable toppings. ~ DeeDee Stovel

Nietzsche was not an Existentialist. Existentialism emerged out of the conflict between Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, the Danish religious writer. ~ Leo Strauss

When you buy from an independent, locally owned business, as opposed to nationally owned businesses, you strengthen the economic base of our city. And of course there's no doubt that you'll receive a better quality product or service. I share John Roeser's amazement that people today tend to prefer saving a dollar or too two on a birthday cake, for example, by purchasing a sub-par cake made with artificial, cheap ingredients from a mass retailer, when Roeser's Bakery offers some of the most delectable, housemade cakes in the world. How could anyone step into a fast food joint when we live in a city that has Lem's barbecque rib tips, Kurowski's kielbasa, Manny's matzo ball soup, and Lindy's chili within reach? You can't even compare the products and services of the businesses featured in this book with those of mass retailers, either: Jjust try putting an Optimo hat on your head - you'll ooze with elegance. Burn a beeswax lambathe from Athenian Candle and watch it glow longer than any candle you've ever lit. Bite into an Andersonville coffeecake from the Swedish Bakery - and you'll have a hard time returning to the artificial ingredient– laden cakes found at most grocers.
Equally important, local, family- owned businesses keep our city unique. In our increasingly homogenized and globalized world, cities that hold on tightly to their family-owned, distinctive businesses are more likely to attract visitors, entrepreneurs, and new investment.
Chicago just wouldn't be C ~ Amy Bizzarri

A short while later, they were all covered in flour.
"Anna, do you have to use so much flour?" her mother asked, waving a cloud of dust away from her face.
"I hate when the cookies stick, Ma, you know that." Anna sifted more flour onto the wooden table that doubled as a workspace. She loved flour and she used it liberally, but it did make cleanup much harder.
The bakery wasn't large and it wasn't bright; the windows were high up, just below the ceiling eaves. Anna had to squint to see her measurements. Spoons and pots hung on the walls, and the large wooden table stood in the middle of the room, where Anna and her mom baked bread, cinnamon rolls, and Anna's famous cookies. The majority of the bakery was taken up by the cast-iron stove. It was as beautiful as it was functional, and Anna was constantly tripping over it- or falling into it, hence the small burn marks on her forearms. Those also came from paddling the bread into and out of the oven. Her parents said she was the best at knowing when the temperature of the stove was just right for baking the softest bread. Maybe she was a little messy when she baked, but it didn't bother her. ~ Jen Calonita

Funny chap, Jesus. First, it's a little strange to assert that a piece of bread is your body. If you or I tried that we wouldn't be believed. We certainly wouldn't be allowed to run a bakery. Yet, given that Jesus was the son of God (this point has occasionally been disputed by people who will burn for ever in God's loving torment), we'll just have to take him at his word. ~ Mark Forsyth

When I was 16 and arrived in France, I discovered chocolate mousse. I was crazy about the bread, too. Every morning, I'd go to the bakery and get a fresh croissant. It made me feel very sophisticated. ~ Jerry Hall

Excuse me," someone said, interrupting a lively discussion about whom they'd each buy a drink for in the cantina.

The whole line looked up. There were two women standing on the sidewalk with bakery boxes. One of them cleared her throat. "We heard that people were camping out for Star Wars . . ."

"That's us!" Troy said, only slightly less enthusiastically than he'd said it yesterday.

"Where's everybody else?" she asked. "Are they around the back? Do you do this in shifts?"

"It's just us," Elena said.

"We're the Cupcake Gals," the other woman said. "We thought we'd bring Star Wars cupcakes? For the line?"

"Great!" Troy said.

The Cupcake Gals held on tight to their boxes.

"It's just . . ." the first woman said, "we were going to take a photo of the whole line, and post it on Instagram . . ."

"I can help you there!" Elena said. Those cupcakes were not going to just walk away. Not on Elena's watch.

Elena took a selfie of their line, the Cupcake Gals and a theater employee all holding Star Wars cupcakes - it looked like a snapshot from a crowd - and promised to post it across all her channels. The lighting was perfect. Magic hour, no filter necessary. #CupcakeGals #TheForceACAKEns #SalaciousCrumbs

The Gals were completely satisfied and left both boxes of cupcakes.

"This is the first time I've been happy that there were only three of us," Elena said, h ~ Rainbow Rowell

India's linguistic diversity surprises many Westerners, but there are nearly thirty languages in India with at least a million native speakers. There are more native speakers of Tamil on our planet than of Italian. Likewise, more people speak Punjabi than German, Marathi than French, and Bengali than Russian. There are more Telugu speakers than Czech, Dutch, Danish, Finnish, Greek, Slovak, and Swedish speakers combined. ~ Bob Harris

American business at this point is really about developing an idea, making it profitable, selling it while it's profitable and then getting out or diversifying. It's just about sucking everything up. My idea was: Enjoy baking, sell your bread, people like it, sell more. Keep the bakery going because you're making good food and people are happy. ~ Ian MacKaye

Oh my god," I shrieked. "Who did I screw over in a former life that those douches get to go to cool cities and I have to go home to an island called Hung?" "Those douches do have hairy asses and not just on a full moon. You're the only female agent I have that looks like a model so you're going to Georgia. Period." "Fine. I'll quit. I'll open a bakery." Angela smiled and an icky feeling skittered down my spine. "Excellent, I'll let you tell the Council that all the money they invested in your training is going to be flushed down the toilet ~ Robyn Peterman

Why the Kikuyu, who personally have so little fear of death, should be so terrified to touch a corpse, while the white people, who are afraid to die, handle the dead easily, I do not know. Here once more you feel their reality to be different from our realities. ~ Karen Blixen