Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Buttered. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Buttered Quotes And Sayings by 94 Authors including Bruce Eric Kaplan,Mokokoma Mokhonoana,Jandy Nelson,Joseph Goebbels,Mark Twain for you to enjoy and share.
There was never any butter in our home. Just margarine. My parents acted like butter was lethal. I don't think I ever saw either one have a piece of butter. I would go over to friends' houses and down sticks of butter.
Peanut butter is a poor man's marmalade.
I feel relaxed now, I mean supernaturally relaxed, like I'm left out butter.
If we are attacked we can only defend ourselves with guns not with butter.
Golden rule: Made of hard metal so it could stand severe wear, it not being known at that time that butter would answer.
She was going to eat warm, buttered bread and feel better.
She sugared and milked
The butter is greasy and it will go rancid and I will smell like an old cheese; but at least it's organic, as they used to say.
To such devices we have descended.
I'm more of a smooth peanut butter kinda girl
Who was the blundering idiot who said 'fine words butter no parsnips'? Half the parsnips of society are served and rendered palatable with no other sauce.
Unleavened Bread, all
The floor is milk, churn it and make it butter.
There's nothing more marvelously wintery than orange root veg mash; some butter is all it needs.
Anyone who tries to make brownies without butter should be arrested.
Should I get more butter?"
"Shut up, Eadlyn,
Everything tastes better with butter. Meat that has fat in it is tender in a certain way, flavorful in a certain way. It's hard to deny the flavor quotient there.
The parsley sinking into the butter on a hot day,
Death by creaming
A foot of steel looks as if it has been transformed into warm butter and gouged by the fingers of a child,
Cast your bread upon the waters, and after many days it will come back buttered.
If you put butter and salt on it, it tastes like salty butter.
There are two sides to a pancake. One is brown and fluffy; the other is burnt.
Burned over water.
The new specialty at the Iowa fair this year is fried butter on a stick. Of course, if you're like me and you want like to eat healthy, get your stick of butter baked.
Just. Plain. [Fu*king.] Grilled. Swordfish.
Somebody is smitten with my Buttercup.
Shaken and not stirred.
If I'm with a man I'm soft and buttery.
You'd be surprised what I can do with a butter knife.
To resist the urge to kick my grandma I grabbed a roll, ripped it in half, and proceeded to slather it with butter.
What do I feel like? Peanut butter?
Dipped in chocolate, bronzed in elegance, enameled with grace, toasted with beauty. My lord, she's a black woman.
with my nicely butter-laminated dough. It was, as expected, perfect. I marveled again at the way someone as strong as Tarry could so carefully
My breath caught in my throat.
Buttered biscuits and honey.
You're not what I expected.
He toasted his bacon on a fork and caught the drops of fat on his bread; then he put the rasher on his thick slice of bread, and cut off chunks with a clasp-knife, poured his tea into his saucer, and was happy.
I never had a piece of toast particularly long and wide, But fell upon the sanded floor, And always on the buttered side.
If you don't display a little more grace, I'm going to smear butter all over your face!
Buttercup's mother hesitated, then put her stew spoon down. (This was after stew, but so is everything. When the first man first clambered from the slime and made his first home on land, what he had for supper that first night was stew.)
with a scrap of bacon on her
Pre-Digested', that almost
Men would eat horse droppings, if ye served them wi' butter.
Sweetly and subtly perfumed ... so soft it is best eaten with a spoon, a tenderness more appealing to gourmets than to those who have to pick, ship, handle and store it in constant fear of ruinous spoilage.
We can do without butter, but, despite all our love of peace, not without arms. One cannot shoot with butter, but with guns.
Why do you call me Buttercup?
And how sweet that would have been: the two of them back by the milk shed, squatting by the churn, smashing cold, lumpy butter into their faces with not a care in the world.
was like a crystal bowl filled with warm kettle corn. But when you lifted it up and checked the bottom, you could see a layer of burnt, unpopped kernels. The kind that makes you flinch from the unexpected bitter taste. The kind that may cause you to chip a tooth.
The butter from Dorothy's' crumpet
Dripped into the bell of her trumpet.
Sweet young Edgar, eating Jell-O,
Dropped a spoonful onto is cello.
You got anything more to eat?"
He walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a cube of butter. Before I could stop him he took a bite. He worked the butter around inn his mouth, then swallowed. "Bit odd," he said, setting the rest of the cube onto the counter.
butter in a golden lump, drowning in the buttermilk. Then Ma took out the lump with a wooden paddle, into a wooden bowl, and she washed it many times in cold water, turning it over and over and working it with the paddle until the water ran clear. After that she salted it. Now
I realized that I've had a really rocky relationship with food - it has not been a gauzy, beautiful summer of ripe melons and perfectly buttered toast.
You don't know shit from apple butter.
I'm religious about salted butter. I don't understand how it happened that everyone thought we should all have sweet butter. I blame the French.
The quail was tender, the potatoes smothered in butter, and the beans roasted in garlic.
Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
Ah but' 'there'll be no butter in hell!
No one knew she cried in the night for Lyle and her lost happiness, that under that biscuit crust exterior she was all butter grief and hunger.
She wanted to give him toast. The sort that had melted butter and a bit of honey spread on top. It was a stupid thought, but there was something comforting about toast.
I was sand, I was snow - written on, rewritten, smoothed over.
There's folks as make bad butter and trusten to the salt t' hide it.
Hunger was shred into atomics in every farthing porringer of husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil.
Guns will make us powerful; butter will only make us fat.
Now, if we only had as many casks of butter as there are people here, then I would eat lots of butter!
I don't see what difference it makes what side it's [your bread] buttered on. I always eat both sides.
Plain fresh bread, its crust shatteringly crisp. Sweet cold butter. There is magic in the way they come together in your mouth to make a single perfect bite.
Shined, combed, brushed and gorgeous
Have you ever met a man who looked so damn delicious that you wanted to sop him up with a hot buttermilk biscuit and inhale him in one gulp?"
"Why, yes, I have," Doris said.
That was a shocker. "Really? What happened?"
"I married him.
Aunt Clara doesn't take her eyes off her toast. Her delicate jet earrings tremble as her knife scratches at the toast like a cat's paw, buttering every inch. Strange how even the most mundane habits of dislikable people can strike such harsh chords. I even hate the way Aunt butters.
Where did you get that candy again?" Leven asked, worried.
"The pile said 'flavored'," Clover answered back, his face a chocolatey mess.
"Flavored?" Leven said exasperated. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Clover argued. "F-l-a-w-e-d
flavored.
Looks delicious," he lied. "A mite crispy along the edges - but then, I like it that way."
Incredulous eyes met his own. "You like your potatoes burned?"
Ah, so he'd been right about that. If he could still recognize what it was she'd cooked, then surely he could eat it.
It was a well-known fact that the richness of buttery foods led to the moral ruin and confusion of the intellect.
It was pizza. Someone had stir-fried a pizza.
I like children - fried.
Taffy is the color of toast and butter.
I cast my bread on the waters long ago. Now it's time for you to send it back to me - toasted and buttered on both sides.
Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, Went on cutting bread and butter.
bread slathered in it on the griddle. Belinda poured some coffee, yawning as she dumped spoonfuls
You know what they say about Southern cooking - butter's the main course - everything else is just a side dish. Why
I have been mostly dull lately. Like a butter knife. And hoping to find, when called upon, something more in my arsenal than a butter knife. Unless my opponent is actually butter. Then that would be fine. Room temperature butter.
He'd been beaten to death with a loaf of bread.
The cream and hot butter mingled and overflowed separating each glucose bead of caviar from its fellows, capping it in white and gold.
mashed into a casserole of wreckage that still smoked and burned.
had a pancake in her hand, so I
Shucked and boiled in water, sweet corn is edible and nutritious; roasted in the husk in the hottest possible oven for forty minutes, shucked at the table, and buttered and salted, nothing else, it is ambrosia. No chef's ingenuity and imagination have ever created a finer dish.
There was such a feeling of peace around them, it was soft and pink and smelled of butter.
Everybody dies. There's no avoiding it, and I do not believe for one second that butter is the cause of anyone's death. Overeating may be, but not butter, please. I just feel bad for people who make that mistake.
You were sizzling, like sausages in a frying pan.
Deep fry that sucker! - Garfield
Sweet is good. I'm not a fan of deep-fried things.
Francie, Neeley, and mama had a very fine meal. Each had a thick slice of the "tongue," two pieces of sweet-smelling rye bread spread with unsalted butter, a sugar bun apiece and a mug of strong hot coffee with a teaspoon of sweetened condensed milk on the side.
Looking at him makes my stomach feel like it's full of hot, melted butter.
Peanuts/Peanut Butter
Miss Child is never bashful with butter.
ground, then drank some and fancied it
Now I must listen again to Claude's set piece on menu terms, as if he's the first ever to spot these unimportant absurdities. He lingers on "pan-fried." What is pan but a deceitful benediction on the vulgar and unhealthy fried?
The hardness of the butter is proportional to the softness of the bread.
I am the fire upon the altar. I am the sacrificial butter.
but I melt until I'm a handful of hot butter dripping down his body.
Rudeness to Mrs. Dosely was like dropping a pat of butter on to a hot plate - it slid and melted away.
Incubated. And then raised. And then beheaded. And then plucked. And then cut up. And then put on a grill. And then put on a bun. Damn, it's gonna take a while. I don't have time. Scrambled!
He had forgotten that anything could be so tender. He breaks the bun open, revealing glossy bits of pork and glaze, a secret red heart.
When he puts it to his mouth, it is like a kiss: sweet and salty and warm.