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“In Wilson's scale of evaluations breakfast rated just after life itself and ahead of the chance of immortality."
~ By His Bootstraps / Robert A. Heinlein”
― Robert A. Heinlein, By His Bootstraps

“I think maybe today a poem I hope
after breakfast I start trying
pulling it out of my own gut
mostly by force”
― John Thomas Idlet (John Thomas), Epopoeia And the Decay of Satire

“Kevin Bacon has a name made for breakfast, and no one knows this better than Johnny Scrambledduckeggs. Ask me how to get FREE coffee in the morning after 3:33 PM.”
― Jarod Kintz, Music is fluid, and my saxophone overflows when my ducks slosh in the sounds I make in elevators.

“Sunlight on a wooden floor;
morning paper, toast and tea.
Books at night, put out the light,
That's happiness for me.”
― John Palen

“Why are breakfast food breakfast foods?" I asked them. "Like, why don't we have curry for breakfast?" "Hazel, eat." "But why?" I asked. "I mean seriously: How did scrambled eggs get stuck with breakfast exclusivity? You can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out. But the moment your sandwich has an egg, boom, it's a breakfast sandwich.â€�
Dad answered with his mouth full.
"When you come back, we'll have breakfast for dinner deal?"
“I don't want to have breakfast for dinner." I answered, crossing knife and fork over my mostly full plate, "I want to have scrambled eggs for dinner without this ridiculous construction that a scrambled egg inclusive meal is breakfast even when it occurs at dinner time."
“You gotta pick your battles in this world Hazel.� My mom said, “But if this is the issue you want to champion, we will stand behind you.�
“Quite a bit behind you.� My dad added, and mom laughed.
Anyway, I knew it was stupid, but I felt kind of bad for scrambled eggs.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

“The mind wants to live forever, or to learn a very good reason why not. The mind wants the world to return its love, or its awareness; the mind wants to know all the world, and all eternity, and God. The mind's sidekick, however, will settle for two eggs over easy.”
― Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters

“I never eat breakfast, but that doesn't mean I don't sell it at my Duck Farm Cafe. Children over the age of 65 dine FREE!”
― Jarod Kintz, Music is fluid, and my saxophone overflows when my ducks slosh in the sounds I make in elevators.

“The promise of a hearty breakfast of buttery grits, fluffy eggs, and thick, crispy bacon beckoned, but she remained tucked underneath her covers with her eyes closed. She basked in the feel of the warm sun caressing her face as it shone bright through her windows. The jaybirds flittering about outside chirped songs of cheer, a happy soundtrack for what was sure to be a stellar day.
"Tiana, baby. Come to breakfast."
Tiana's eyes popped opened and a smile as wide as the Mississippi River stretched across her face.
"I'm on my way, Daddy," she called.”
― Farrah Rochon, Almost There

“Why are breakfast food breakfast foods?" I asked them. "Like, why don't we have curry for breakfast?"
"Hazel, eat."
"But why?" I asked. "I mean seriously: How did scrambled eggs get stuck with breakfast exclusivity? You can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out. But the moment your sandwich has an egg, boom, it's a breakfast sandwich."
Dad answered with his mouth full.
"When you come back, we'll have breakfast for dinner deal?"
"I don't want to have breakfast for dinner." I answered, crossing knife and fork over my mostly full plate, "I want to have scrambled eggs for dinner without this ridiculous construction that a scrambled egg inclusive meal is breakfast even when it occurs at dinner time."
“You gotta pick your battles in this world Hazel.� My mom said, “But if this is the issue you want to champion, we will stand behind you.�
“Quite a bit behind you.� My dad added, and mom laughed.
Anyway, I knew it was stupid but I felt kind of bad for scrambled eggs.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

“Sweet potato. Mashed yams covered in beef jerky. French bread. Butter. A warm bowl of couscous. It's like she's trying to feed an army.
"I'm not very hungry," I say.
"It's not like you to refuse breakfast," she says with a wink. And my heart stops, because Mom winks just like Grandma used to. "And you barely ate last night. You need sustenance."
I join her at the counter, trying not to think about how without a third stool at the center to balance our family out, the counter feels much wider than it is.
Our breakfast begins quietly, just the hum of the fridge in the background.
I add butter to my yams, and the spoonful melts in my mouth, warming me up from inside out. I scoop up the little cuts of beef jerky individually, leftover from last night, chewing on them with my eyes closed. I let the salty flavor spread over my taste buds to wake them up one by one.
I then pull my bowl of milk couscous closer, breathing in the cinnamon-fragrant steam.”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“(He ate breakfast like a savage: quantities of leavened bread, chunks of cheese made from cowsâ€� milk, and coffee drowned in cowsâ€� milk too, which he called galão â€� things that no right-minded person would eat at the beginning of the day.)”
― Salman Rushdie, Victory City

“The untoward incident cast a certain gloom over the breakfast table, though Wimsey, who felt his sides clapping together like an empty portmanteau, was only too happy to devour his eggs and bacon and coffee in peace.”
― Dorothy L. Sayers, The Nine Tailors

“I dream I'm a wolf sometimes, and when I wake up, I'm panting and my fur's on alert and I'm feeling Yeah, the world could hurt me, but I could hurt the world right back even harder. Like there's a dangerous, hard part of me chained inside, struggling to go free and just, I dunno, get even.
Then I go see what's for breakfast.”
― Katherine Applegate, The One and Only Bob

“My grandpa lived in the First District area of Dixie County, FL. Near where State Road 349 and County Road 351 meet. I spent a lot of time there as a kid. Roaming over unplanted fields. Tossing maypops against the side of a sun-bleached barn. Chickens roamed freely over his land. Mornings began with a hunt to find eggs for breakfast. Every day was Easter back then. With sand and snakes.”
― Damon Thomas, Some Books Are Not For Sale

“The progress of civilization has made a breakfast or a dinner an easy and cheerful substitute for more troublesome and disagreeable ceremonies. We take a less gloomy view of our errors now our father confessor listens to us over his egg and coffee. We are more distinctly conscious that rude penances are out of the question for gentlemen in an enlightened age, and that mortal sin is not incompatible with an appetite for muffins.”
― George Eliot, Adam Bede

“Come on. You can buy me breakfast."
"I've already had breakfast."
"So have I. What's that got to do with it?”
― Mick Herron, The Secret Hours

“My soul never thinks of beginning to wake up for other people till lunch-time, and never does so completely till it has been taken out of doors and aired in the sunshine.”
― Elizabeth von Arnim, Elizabeth and Her German Garden

“...my soul never thinks of beginning to wake up for other people till lunch-time, and never does so completely till it has been taken out of doors and aired in the sunshine.”
― Elizabeth von Arnim, Elizabeth and Her German Garden

“Eating a big bowl of ice cream for breakfast is every kids dream!”
― Steven Magee

“Monday is a breakfast of ideas.”
― Anthony T. Hincks

“He used to say that breakfast resembles the first line of a haiku, it shows the way. Lunch is the second line and carries the momentum. The third line, then, is dinner, as it brings everything to a close.”
― Olaf Olafsson, Touch

“The commanding officer, the doctor, and the Prince could well order her to do anything he wanted, and she better get used to it. She suffered a serious trauma and may well be slipping into a manic episode. He was not going to have it. Just as he was about to inform her of that fact, she put a plate of bacon in front of him and flashed a pretty smile.

“Pancakes, coming up!�

She swished away; her incredible ass covered by a handprint of flour. He nearly choked on his coffee.

Damn, undone by bacon and a tight little ass. —Prince Josiah ben Eamonn”
― Staci Morrison, M1-The Black Key

“Time for breakfast, lads!" Hamish crowed, smiling at the massive glass bowl layered with raspberries, toasted oatmeal, crowdie, and honey. It was easy to see why Dad and the cook might be mad. This dessert was a work of art.”
― Elizabeth Lim, A Twisted Tale Anthology

“Rhys leaned over and whispered. “Have a care, love. It’s already been slaughtered.â€�
Smile lines appeared at his eyes. “Now, if it were the roast at evening meal, then you’d have reason for your suspicions.�
That gave her pause. “Truly?�
He lowered his lips so close they nearly brushed the shell of her ear. “Does my mother strike you as one who’d tolerate a roast that is still mooing?”
― Christi Caldwell, To Tempt a Scoundrel

“There’s nothing in the world quite so refreshing as that accomplished feeling of enjoying a big breakfast the day after you slay a dragon.”
― J. Aaron Gruben, The Mubblefubbles: A Toothy Tangle

“Regret Roulette by Stewart Stafford

Evening's breath caressed in,
Across a mind's cracked land,
On raven's wing in twilight air,
A doused flame's colder hand.

Dead-end gallery of exit signs,
Contrition's dog whistle song,
Eye of Horus in a looking glass,
Blindfolds of a corrupted throng.

Feral brunch on a sheepish plate,
The curate's egg fried with shell,
Bellini confession, in vino veritas,
Burnt offerings to show-and-tell.

© Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“It is very unpleasant to sit down to a meal when you are trying to determine which one of your breakfast companions is a murderer.

- Alex Easton”
― T. Kingfisher, What Moves the Dead

“She fetched the bowl of sour cherries Sisy had pitted the night before. They would make a lovely jam for the queen's breakfast.
As the sour cherries simmered gently with honey, she turned her attention to the apples. The queen liked sweet dishes. Roxannah planned to make a date and raisin omelet, using the apples that had been preserved in the deep cellars of the palace since the previous autumn. They were a bit wrinkly and thick-skinned. But cooked in butter, they would taste fine.
She dropped the apple peels and seeds into the jam to help thicken its juice. Nothing went to waste in her kitchen.
She prepared the sweet mixture for the egg dish, keeping an eye on the jam at the same time as stirring the apples frying in butter. When they turned golden brown, she added the dates and raisins with a pinch of cinnamon and set the mixture aside. All that remained was to beat the eggs and add them to the mixture just before serving so that they would be fresh and warm for the queen.”
― Tessa Afshar, The Queen's Cook

“There is a pot of coarse oat porridge with bilberries, a whole side of smoked salmon on a waney-edged plank and venison black pudding as crumbly as chocolate cake. Nettles are pressed into crispbread like leaves on a frozen pond. A sleigh ride from Lapland, snow falling and faced with the breakfast of my dreams, I spoon cakes of potato and kale onto my plate to eat with slices of beetroot-cured salmon. I drink glowing red lingonberry juice from a shot glass that feels like a transfusion and stir a compote of berries into my yoghurt.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joyâ€� A Memoir of Sorts

“Purées of plum or dusky berries float on glass pots of yoghurt; scallops and oysters quiver on the half-shell and platters of sashimi sit on jagged crystals of crushed ice. Slices of boiled bacon with a mustard glaze are arranged in a soldierly line; poached white fish is wantonly sprinkled with spring onions; a mixture of aubergines and minced pork and another of hot and leafy mustard greens bask in chafing dishes next to stainless-steel cauldrons of miso soup. There are wicker baskets of dumplings steaming and a whole table of ingredients--- rice, eggs, greens and soy sauce--- with which to build your own bibimbap.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joyâ€� A Memoir of Sorts