Sparerib Famous Quotes & Sayings

I give you Chicago. It is not London and Harvard. It is not Paris and buttermilk. It is American in every chitling and sparerib. It is alive from snout to tail. — H.L. Mencken

Swinging the door open, I took a sip. All of the coffee in the world wouldn't help if more visitors showed up at my door this early in the morning but the caffeine fortification was a bonus. The delivery guy pushed his clipboard at me. I held up my cup and raided my eyebrows.
We had an entire conversation in the next seven seconds with our eyes and eyebrows.
I told him that I wasn't giving up my coffee for his delivery. He told me that if I'd just sign on the damned dotted line he would get the hell out of here.
I replied in turn that if he'd hold the clipboard instead of shoving it at me (I threw in a nod here for good measure), I'd sign the damned line.
He finally sighed, turned the clipboard around and held the pen out.
I braced the door with my hip, grabbed the pen and scrawled Wilma Flinstone on the paper. — Nicole Hamlett

This year, everything is going to be different. No one in Fischer Hall is going to die this year. Not even accidentally."
"How are you going to manage that?" Coop asks, gnawing on a Chinese sparerib. "Bubble wrap all your residents? — Meg Cabot

Three Scotsmen of the clan McKay were looking for a fourth member to fight four members of the Irish clan Magee ... 'I'm not one of you,' my father pointed out. 'You see, I'm one of the clan M-c-C-A-Y.' And that is how I got both my name and my sense of humor. — Winsor McCay

Perhaps illnesses could be left behind, just like small, badly concealed china corpses. — Frances Hardinge

My grandmother would croon over every scrap of meat on a sparerib like a medieval relic hunter musing on the knucklebone of a saint. — Rose Quiello

'Nil By Mouth' was a bit autobiographical, but as I always pointed out at the time, that's not my dad. — Gary Oldman

Seeing her again was like unearthing an emotional library card with a lot of overdues. — Craig Johnson

Publishing is not my world. — Rachel Kushner

my heart, sometimes singing in the afternoon, the most haunting song of solitude — John J. Geddes