A Quote by Kathy Burke

I'm very much a person who walks on egg shells. — © Kathy Burke
I'm very much a person who walks on egg shells.
I want to live my life without filters. I don't walk on egg shells. I say what I want and I'm a very free spirit.
The egg, you see, is a very sexy thing. Egg is like birth. Eggshell is sexy. Egg yolk is definitely sexy. Oh, I love egg.
the test of a cook is how she boils an egg. My boiled eggs are fantastic, fabulous. Sometimes as hard as a 100 carat diamond, or again soft as a feather bed, or running like a cooling stream, they can also burst like fireworks from their shells and take on the look and rubbery texture of a baby octopus. Never a dull egg, with me.
I got into foul trouble, so I really kind of had to play on egg shells from there on out.
Eoin Morgan and Joe Root have a really calm and open changing room. There's no tension there. You don't have to be walking on egg shells around any of the players.
One Christmas Eve I was made to eat a thing the person who cooked it called 'caram-egg' - which was basically uncooked egg in the shape of a cowpat with the tiniest hint of caramel.
It's said a friend is a person who walks in when everyone else walks out.
I always felt like I was stuck in between my parents, relaying information back and forth and walking on egg shells, not knowing what was going to trigger something to make them mad and not knowing what to say in front of them.
The sea is masculine, the type of active strength. Look, what egg-shells are drifting all over it, each one, like ours, filled with men in ecstasies of terror, alternating with cockney conceit, as the sea is rough or smooth. Is this sad-colored circle an eternal cemetery?
In a way, NAFTA is like a scrambled egg. How do you unscramble an egg? The value chains are so interwoven that it would be very difficult to do that. But government policies force us to look for ways to unscramble it.
I think the meaning of the universe is bound up with the egg. ... I am fed up with the meaning of the universe. Everything starts in the egg and ends in death. I think it's called 'the heartbreak at the heart of things.' But then perhaps our very mortality is an egg and at the moment of death our souls will emerge like damp chicks.
But this is a remarkable egg, an egg worth talking about, an egg worth crossing the street for, an egg worth writing about.
It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.
You see something happen to a population whereby everyone adopts something that's just preposterous in a way that makes it normal instantly. If any one person prior to the rash of puka shells, for example, was seen wearing puka shells, he would look like an idiot. But when everyone is wearing them, it instantly makes them normal.
Place a lump of fresh butter in a pan or egg dish and let it melt - that is, just enough for it to spread, and never, of course, to crackle or sit; open a very fresh egg onto a small plate or saucer and slide it carefully into the pan; cook it on heat so low that the white barely turns creamy, and the yolk becomes hot but remains liquid; in a separate saucepan, melt another lump of fresh butter; remove the egg onto a lightly heated serving plate; salt it and pepper it, then very gently pour this fresh, warm butter over it
Am I really a person who lives by faith? God can surely tell the difference between someone who walks in darkness and someone who walks with her eyes shut. Which am I?
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