soup

...You won't even see what is put right on the table before you. Men. If it was raining soup you'd be out there with a fork.

If you feel all damp and lonely like a mushroom, find the thick, creamy soup of joyfulness and just dive into it in order to make life tastier

Alphabet soup is my magic eight ball. Served hot or cold, words are delicious.

Soup is cozy.

When I was a kid and my mom made tomato soup, she would cut buttered toast into squares and float them on top of each bowl.

What a marvelous resource soup is for the thrifty cook - it solves the ham-bone and lamb-bone problems, the everlasting Thanksgiving turkey, the extra vegetables.

My good health is due to a soup made of white doves. It is simply wonderful as a tonic.

I did my famous cabbage soup diet, so I was able to do it.

I think that women just have a primeval instinct to make soup, which they will try to foist on anybody who looks like a likely candidate.

Ever notice that Soup for One is eight aisles away from Party Mix?

Only the pure in heart can make a good soup.

Soup is a lot like a family. Each ingredient enhances the others each batch has its own characteristics and it needs time to simmer to reach full flavor.

Writing is a lot like making soup. My subconscious cooks the idea, but I have to sit down at the computer to pour it out.

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

There must be some kind of internal time distortion effect in here, because when I look at myself in the little mirror above my sink, what I see is my father's face, my face turning into his. I am beginning to feel how the man looked, especially how he looked on those nights he came home so tired he couldn't even make it through dinner without nodding off, sitting there with his bowl of soup cooling in front of him, a rich pork-and-winter-melon-saturated broth that, moment by moment, was losing - or giving up - its tiny quantum of heat into the vast average temperature of the universe.

Yeah. I'm the fly in the soup. I don't like it any better than you do. Flies don't like being swamped in soup, especially when it's hot.

Curiosity is a good thing, like onion soup. But too much onion soup makes your breath smell terrible. And too much curiosity can make your whole body smell terrible, if it causes you to be dead.

Mrs Guinea answered my letter and invited me to lunch at her home. That was where I saw my first finger-bowl.The water had a few cherry blossoms floating in it, and I thought it must be some clear sort of Japanese after-dinner soup and ate every bit of it, including the crisp little blossoms. Mrs Guinea never said anything, and it was only much later, when I told a debutant I knew at college about dinner, that I learned what I had done.