A Quote by P. G. Wodehouse

The cup of tea on arrival at a country house is a thing which, as a rule, I particularly enjoy. I like the crackling logs, the shaded lights, the scent of buttered toast, the general atmosphere of leisured cosiness.
My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.
Suppose you are drinking a cup of tea. When you hold your cup, you may like to breathe in, to bring your mind back to your body, and you become fully present. And when you are truly there, something else is also there - life, represented by the cup of tea. In that moment you are real, and the cup of tea is real. You are not lost in the past, in the future, in your projects, in your worries. You are free from all of these afflictions. And in that state of being free, you enjoy your tea. That is the moment of happiness, and of peace.
I prefer to drink two glasses of water and then a nice hot cup of tea. My favourite tea is a mixture of Darjeeling tea. My breakfast consists of a glass of fresh orange juice and a slice of toast.
In Britain, a cup of tea is the answer to every problem. Fallen off your bicycle? Nice cup of tea. Your house has been destroyed by a meteorite? Nice cup of tea and a biscuit. Your entire family has been eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex that has travelled through a space/time portal? Nice cup of tea and a piece of cake. Possibly a savoury option would be welcome here too, for example a Scotch egg or a sausage roll.
My general rule of thumb is, once something's a ride at Disneyland, I assume that it is no longer a threat in real life. Which is why I don't expect to get attacked by a giant tea cup anytime soon.
I never had a piece of toast particularly long and wide, But fell upon the sanded floor, And always on the buttered side.
When you chopped logs with the ax and they split open they smelled beautiful, like Christmas. But when you split someone's head open it smelled like abattoir and quite overpowered the scent of the wild lilacs you'd cut and brought into the house only this morning, which was already another life.
On Saturday, I don't want to be woken up until at least nine: I like a bit of a lie-in, a cup of tea, toast and marmalade, and the newspaper.
I usually wake up around 9, and the first thing I do is make myself a cup of tea. I drink a lot of tea - green tea, white tea, and all kinds of herbal teas.
I told her tea bags were just a convenience for people with busy lives and she said no one is so busy they can't take time to make a decent cup of tea and if you are that busy you don't deserve a decent cup of tea for what is it all about anyway? Are we put into this world to be busy or to chat over a nice cup of tea?
I've never cooked. I can't do much more in the kitchen than make a cup of tea and some toast.
He got me a cup of tea with honey, toast with honey, yogurt with honey, like I was John the Baptist with the flu.
I've stood outside my house in Montana looking at the northern lights... crackling against the night sky. To me, that's magic.
In a bouquet of mixed roses, most people can distinguish at a glance the delicacy of a tea rose from the voluptuousness of a cabbage rose, but how many could so readily differentiate between the tea rose's scent of freshly harvested tea and the spicy, honeylike, rich floral scent of the cabbage?
When I got inside, I just sort of stood there. There's nothing stranger than the smell of someone else's house. The scent goes right to your stomach. Mary's house smelled like lemon furniture polish and oatmeal cookies and logs in a fireplace. For some reason it made me want to curl up in the fetal position. I could have slept right there on their kitchen table.
"Poor Mrs. Benefer," Heather murmured. "Well, a nice cup of tea and she'll be right as rain.""Oh, puh-leeze, Heather. A nice cup of tea, indeed. A nice cup of tea, two Prozac, and sleep for a week, maybe..."
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