Cappuccino Quotes

“What I don't like is breakfast in the morning. I have a double-espresso cappuccino, but no food.”

“Every morning, I make myself a cappuccino with a drawing in the foam. I post them to Instagram with the hashtag #christiecappuccino.”

“Casting sarcasm ain't easy.. It needs hard work and a big mug of cappuccino!”

“Life with God is wilder than the wildest roller coaster ride, and safer than your childhood bedroom. It's more thrilling than the greatest adventure, and more delicious than an Italian cappuccino--if you can even believe it.”

“I just have to express myself somehow, either through singing, dance or fitness. You get sick of it; you have days where you think you don't want to do it, but generally after I've done something, I feel better. That's why I do the exercise: to earn my bar of chocolate and cappuccino.”

“Karma is experience, and experience creates memory, and memory creates imagination and desire, and desire creates karma again. If I buy a cup of coffee, that's karma. I now have that memory that might give me the potential desire for having cappuccino, and I walk into Starbucks, and there's karma all over again.”

“What does she even eat, do you think?""Tea fungus,"Ruth says. "Unsweetened. From an eye dropper. Is what I picture. either that or some sort of sea vegetable.""Sad," I say."It is," Ruth muses.We decide to order two skim milk cappuccinos and split a gluten-free carrot cake cupcake.”

“I would like a cappuccino," says Linus politely. "Thank you.""Your name?""I'll spell it for you," he says. "Z-W-P-A-E-N--""What?" She stares at him, Sharpie in hand."Wait, I haven't finished. Double F-hyphen-T-J-U-S. It's an unusual name, Linus adds gravely. "It's Dutch.”

“The lounge of the private terminal in Delhi. A place of beige leather sofas and cappuccinos, set deep in that world where a seeling modernity has yet to close over the land, and where in the empty spaces that lie between the elevated roads and the coloured glass buildings there are still, like insects taking shelter under the veined roof of a leaf, the encampments of families who built them. Black pigs still thread their way through the weeds, there are still patient lorry-loads of labourers, waiting among the dazzle of the new cars, for the lights to change. One India, dwarfed and stunted, adheres like a watchful undergrowth to another India which, in very physical ways, as with the roads that fly up out of the pale land, or the chunks of monorail that rise up from the ground like the remnants of an ancient wall, or the blank closed faces of the glass buildings, wishes to shrug off its poorer opposite: to leave it behind; to shut it out; to soar over it. One man, above all, captures the mood of this time: the security guard. In him, this man of expectation – a man not rich himself, but standing guard at the doorway to a world of riches – it is possible to feel the boredom and restlessness of a world that inspires ambition, but cannot answer it. Skanda watches him watching the lounge, with eyes glazed and yellowing from undernourishment. A favourite phrase from college returns: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”