A cup of tea is all I need to keep working.
He’s crazy,” Bruno said, twirling a finger in circles around the side of his head and whistling to indicate just how crazy he thought he was. “He went up to a cat on the street the other day and invited her over for afternoon tea.” “What did the cat say?” asked Gretel, who was making a sandwich in the corner of the kitchen. “Nothing.” explained Bruno. “It was a cat.
I would never advise shooing away a good idea.
A combination of fine tea, enchanting objects and soothing surroundings exerts a therapeutic effect by washing away the corrosive strains and stress of modern life. [… It] induces a modd that is spiritually refreshing [and produces] a genial state of mind.
And so it continued all day, wynde after wynde, from a room beyond came the whistle of a teakettle. “Now, you really must join me. I’ve some marvelous Darjeeling, and some delicious petits fours a friend of mine gave me for Christmas.
You’ll never find a cup of tea big enough or a book long enough to suit me.
The usual for me.” The usual was a strong infusion of different kinds of Oriental teas, which raised her spirits after her siesta.
She’s a pot-of-tea-before-I-say-boo-to-you woman. There’s always a pile of warm teabags in the sink when I come down, like what a horse would leave behind.
Before Elle had come into his life, he didn’t even know what tea was. Now it was a staple. Worse, he actually knew the differences in teas.
I shouldn’t think even millionaires could eat anything nicer than new bread and real butter and honey for tea.