Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.— Alexander Pushkin
Remarkable Sweet Tea quotations
Tough girls come from New York. Sweet girls, theyre from Georgia. But us Kentucky girls, we have fire and ice in our blood. We can ride horses, be a debutante, throw left hooks, and drink with the boys, all the while making sweet tea, darlin. And if we have an opinion, you know youre gonna hear it.
Bring me a cup of tea and the 'Times.'
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.
Thank God for tea! What would the world do without tea! How did it exist? I am glad I was not born before tea.
Unlike water or wine or even Coca-Cola, sweet tea means something.
It is a tell, a tradition. Sweet tea isn't a drink, really. It's culture in a glass.
We had a kettle; we let it leak: Our not repairing made it worse. We haven't had any tea for a week... The bottom is out of the Universe.
It's nice coming to Nashville, and we have four-bedroom house and a dog, and we go swimming a lot. We get down here and spread out a lot, and I miss my sweet tea and my cornbread and my good southern cooking - but I'm down here eating pretty for two weeks and I'm ready to go back to New York City.
In the worship of Bacchus, we have sacrificed too freely.
... Why not consecrate ourselves to the queen of the Camelias, and revel in the warm stream of sympathy that flows from her altar? In the liquid amber within the ivory-porcelain, the initiated may touch the sweet reticence of Confucius.
I always fear that creation will expire before teatime.
Neither drink [coffee or tea] was known in Frankish lands, but seated in the coffeehouses, I drank of each at various times, twirling my moustache and listening with attention to that headier draught, the wine of the intellect, that sweet and bitter juice distilled from the vine of thought and the tree of man's experience.
Socialists try to convince us that the tea becomes sweet not because of sugar, but because of mixing.
Some people will tell you there is a great deal of poetry and fine sentiment in a chest of tea.
You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though I asked most distinctly for bread and butter, you have given me cake. I am known for the gentleness of my disposition, and the extraordinary sweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far.
I'm not meant to run around trees. I can't throw my arms in the air and sing, I find that boring and irritating. Sweet romcoms are not my cup of tea. The film has to be a little twisted and quirky.
Wouldn't it be dreadful to live in a country where they didn't have tea?
I had never been to Texas. Id been through Texas, but Im so glad to be back in a place thats not L.A. or New York. To talk about Dallas, to talk about there being sweet tea on the catering table, its rich and saturated in American-ness.
My dear if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my muddle of a head I should better understand your affairs.
Oh, God above, if heaven has a taste it must be an egg with butter and salt, and after the egg is there anything in the world lovelier than fresh warm bread and a mug of sweet golden tea?
It's not the sugar that makes the tea sweet, but the stirring.
Better than sweet tea on a veranda. I want to live at Belmont!
If religion is the opiate of the people, tradition is an even more sinister analgesic, simply because it rarely appears sinister. If religion is a tight band, a throbbing vein, and a needle, tradition is a far homelier concoction: poppy seeds ground into tea; a sweet cocoa drink laced with cocaine; the kind of thing your grandmother might have made.
The rosy hearth, the lamplight's narrow beam, The meditation that is rather dream, With looks that lose themselves in cherished looks; The hour of steaming tea and banished books; The sweetness of the evening at an end, The dear fatigue, and right to rest attained, And worshipped expectation of the night,— Oh, all these things, in unrelenting flight, My dream pursues through all the vain delays, Impatient of the weeks, mad at the days!