tea

Architecture is basically a container of something. I hope they will enjoy not so much the teacup, but the tea.

Where there's tea there's hope.

Astonishing how tea opens the ears.

I still encourage anyone who feels at all compelled to write to do so. I just try to warn people who hope to get published that publication is not all it is cracked up to be. But writing is. Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do---the actual act of writing---turns out to be the best part. It's like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be its own reward.

Writing is a job, a talent, but it's also the place to go in your head. It is the imaginary friend you drink your tea with in the afternoon.

Dearly beloved _ dearly revered _ dearly discovered _ dearly feared _ all present _ all powerful _ all knowing _ all from the taste of tea.

Drinking tea is as sacred as doing yoga. Sleeping silently, relaxed, is as sacred as prayer. Looking at a tree, talking to a friend, walking early in the morning, working in the factory or in the office, is as holy as anything else. This is the understanding that is needed for Tao to happen.

Iced tea! Nothing is half so refreshing as a glass of black tea piled high with ice! More than a quencher of thirst, it is a tamer of tempers, a lifter of lethargy, and a brightener of smiles. It is a taste of Winter__ chill, magically trapped in midsummer__ glass.

A traditional Englishman drinks tea to the point where his blood has long-since been replaced with an infusion of Ceylon, Assam, and Darjeeling.

Blood, sweat, and tea, sister! That's what it takes to achieve all great and terrible things.

Some days 'staying put' might feel the same as Going Nowhere.Make a cup of tea, and wait for that feeling to pass.

A combination of fine tea, enchanting objects and soothing surroundings exerts a therapeutic effect by washing away the corrosive strains and stress of modern life. [... It] induces a modd that is spiritually refreshing [and produces] a genial state of mind.

The scattered tea goes with the leaves and every day a sunset dies.

I thought Mr. Millward never would cease telling us that he was no tea-drinker, and that it was highly injurious to keep loading the stomach with slops to the exclusion of more wholesome sustenance, and so give himself time to finish his fourth cup.

Two things consistently bring me pleasure: hot sweet tea and writing. Which is not to say that either are particularly good for me_I use entirely too much sugar and so far don__ find sucralose to be a good alternative. Also, writing is not a practice that engenders confidence. Quite the opposite. It__ about making yourself deliberately insecure so that you can write the next thing and have it be worth reading.And that__ not even taking into consideration the business end of things, which can make you bitter if you__e not careful_But I__e spent my the bulk of my life to date figuring out the right mix of fat and sugar in my tea and also, how to get incrementally better (I hope_) at the writing, so I__ not giving it/them up!

The cold seemed less relentless now. The small circle of white light from my bedside lamp and its hint of the dawn to come seemed to drive the worst of the chill away and the hot tea did the rest, as I lay and read further into the life of the young woman in the bravado coat.

It's a lot like the Wild West out here... just with tea shops instead of saloons. Wild West Sahara, that is.

Meanwhile, let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the bamboos, the fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let us dream of evanescence and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things.