“Cold coffee is a liquid morgue.”

Wave your wand while the magic’s still there.

Someday is a romantic lie, right now is an urgent truth.

She’s got sunshine in her eyes, and it ain’t even daylight.

She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about.

May your cold nights die a warm death.

Love is wealth in the pockets of the heart.

Don’t bring her dead flowers, take her to where the flowers live.

Her light is true love, her darkness a seductive mistress.

Last night (we exchanged so much DNA) we became each other.

Soak me in your moonshine and fuck me on fire.

My day feels too damn organized, you should come over tonight and make a mess out of me.

Half my mind is sex and songs.

When they question you about my disappearance, Do not tell them I am lost inside you.

What do you do when the passion burns out? Start another fire.

Her kiss is a sun-burn that never heals.

She comes in form of blistering light : her love is a screaming sun.

The coffee shop is a great New York institution, but it has terrible coffee. And the more traditional coffee shops are trying to catch up with more sophisticated coffee drinkers.

You know you’re going to get it, but it’s going to be rough.

Going to Starbucks for coffee is like going to prison for sex.

You can’t have a decent food culture without a decent coffee culture: the two things grow up together.

For me, the beauty of the blank page, or empty screen,staring up at nine thirty after two cups of coffee and a deep breath remains unique.

Kids win this’n’that every day. Thousands of them. One out of a hundred fights professionally. One out of a thousand’s worth watchin’, one out of a million’s worth coffee and doughnuts.

I like my coffee with cream and my literature with optimism.

If I died tonight I think I would like to come back as your morning coffee. Just as strong and just as necessary.