A Quote by Walter Scott

Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell. — © Walter Scott
Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.
Between the mouth and the morsel many things may happen.
Forgiveness is the sweetest revenge.
Success is the sweetest revenge.
I didn't cook for the competition, I cooked for myself, I cooked for my loved ones, I cooked to represent my culture, I cooked to represent Chinese-American immigrants. I was proud of what I was able to accomplish under the conditions.
I grew up in a household where we cooked all the time. My mom cooked all the time; my dad cooked. My grandmothers cooked. I have memories of sitting on the counter and snapping green beans with my grandmother.
Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to gettin' pussy.
[Would] a sensible man spit out the juicy morsel that good fortune put in his mouth?
Simply coming to the perpetrator and delivering the message is Nozick's definition of revenge. And in that sense, Adi is exacting revenge. When people ask, "Does Adi want revenge?" - they mean violent revenge. But in Nozick's formulation, it is revenge. That is the essence of revenge.
There is not a morsel of evidence backing up any of the claims or any of the narratives or any of the premises that make up today's news. There is not a morsel of evidence on anybody. There's not a morsel of evidence on Flynn! On Manafort! On Carter Page! There's no evidence on Trump! And yet the reporting goes on. Convicted of high crimes already without a trial. It's a great piece by Eli Lake.
Christian ethics demand that you should not take revenge. The paradox is, naturally, that Christians worship a God who is the greatest avenger of them all. Defy him and you burn in eternal hell, an act of revenge which is completely out of proportion to the crime
I'm sick of the foodies who need every morsel that goes into their mouth to be a Picasso painting, a Giacometti sculpture, a Proust novel, evoking the world with each crumb.
Im sick of the foodies who need every morsel that goes into their mouth to be a Picasso painting, a Giacometti sculpture, a Proust novel, evoking the world with each crumb.
Yes, the sky was now a devastating, home-cooked red. The small German town had been flung apart one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would have cooked your mouth.
'Morsel' is a perfect word. Forming those six letters on the lips and tongue prompts an instantaneous physiological reaction. The mouth waters. The lips purse.
When I was a child, our whole family cooked. All my cousins cooked. All my aunts and uncles cooked. It was part of our heritage.
I'm the kind of father I wanted my father to be. That may be the sweetest revenge.
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