A Quote by Paula Poundstone

I love key lime pie, although it's never made the proper way. — © Paula Poundstone
I love key lime pie, although it's never made the proper way.
I was in Key West, Florida, and I ate some key lime pie and the base of the pie had nuts in it. I'm allergic to nuts and I went into anaphylactic shock, which is life threatening, and ended up in hospital.
You know what they say: 'Why sit at a table that doesn't have key lime pie on it if you don't have to?'
My mother didn't really cook. But she did make key lime pie, until the day the top of the evaporated milk container accidentally ended up in the pie and she decided cooking took too much concentration.
I am a Southern girl at heart, so I have a pulled pork sandwich and Key lime pie every day. It's a problem.
In the 'Mad Men' era, the archetypal dad came home; put down his briefcase; received pipe, Manhattan, roast beef, potatoes, key-lime pie; and was - apparently - content.
Never say 'no' to pie. No matter what, wherever you are, diet-wise or whatever, you know what? You can always have a small piece of pie, and I like pie. I don't know anybody who doesn't like pie. If somebody doesn't like pie, I don't trust them. I'll bet you Vladimir Putin doesn't like pie.
I love pie. Definitely apple pie, but sweet potato pie - really any pie.
The mold in which a key is made would be a strange thing, if you had never seen a key: and the key itself a strange thing if you had never seen a lock. Your soul has a curious shape because it is a hollow made to fit a particular swelling in the infinite contours of the divine substance, or a key to unlock one of the doors in the house with many mansions. Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it -- made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand.
Although the frankfurter originated in Frankfurt, Germany, we have long since made it our own, a twin pillar of democracy along with Mom's apple pie. In fact, now that Mom's apple pie comes frozen and baked by somebody who isn't Mom, the hot dog stands alone. What it symbolizes remains pure, even if what it contains does not.
Pie throwing is kind of a lost art, and although it may be a rather rudimentary, burlesque humor, there's something inherently funny about taking a pie in the face, under the right conditions.
And you, my best friend on earth, my soul sister who shares Chunky Monkey scoops and beefcake e-mails at the drop of a hat, the woman who made me wear a frothy, ruffled lime-colored bridesmaid dress that added fifteen pounds to my hips, are going to spill your guts to me, aren’t you? (Sunshine) No fair and the dress wasn’t lime, it was mint. (Selena) It was lime-icky green and I looked like a sick pistachio. (Sunshine)
I played around with GarageBand before, but I'd never actually made a proper song. So it was getting into the studio with him where I made my first proper song. I've always loved creative writing, so I had done that as well.
The great thing about baking is that you can bring in an apple pie when you have company and say, 'I baked this for you,' and people love it. Men love it when you bake a pie for them.
The obvious precedent for Beijing 2008 was the Berlin Olympics, in 1936. Both were showcases for a muscle-flexing nation, although Hitler made an elementary error when he chose not to dress his young National Socialists in lime-green catsuits laced with twinkling fairy lights.
I can't even say 'hair pie,'' I told him, 'unless I'm talking about an actual pie made out of rabbits.
Hey, see if they've got any pie. Bring me some pie. I love me some pie.
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