欧宝娱乐

“He was a bee in a stone honeycomb, and someone had cut off his wings.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

“He offers the honeycomb with one hand and shows the whip with the other.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons

“Pigeons wrapped in the leaves of vines. Oysters in crisp pastry cases. Whole Gloucester salmon in aspic. Yarmouth lobsters cooked in wine and herbs. Glazed tarts of pippin apples. Paper-thin layers of buttery pastry spread with greengages, apricots, peaches, cherries, served with great gouts of golden cream.
"Well," I say, "it's gruel for us tonight, with a smidgeon of salt and pepper." Whereupon he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a twist of greased paper, and opens it. Immediately I smell the tang of heather honey.
"For you, Ann." In his grimed palm sits an oozing chunk of honeycomb as big as a plover's egg.
I clap my hands in delight, my tongue waggling with greed. As we eat our gruel I make the clots of chewy wax last as long as possible, pushing them around and around my mouth, pressing them against my molars, sucking on them 'til they slip sweetly down my throat.”
― Annabel Abbs, Miss Eliza's English Kitchen

“The Honey that Adorns my soul to Network with all Nobility in an Affable Humility means Hannah”
― Wisdom Kwashie Mensah

“Hannah means The Honeycomb of Abundant nutrients which Nourish my soul to be Noble in my all networks with an Affable Humility.”
― Wisdom Kwashie Mensah

“Once the food is cool enough, I eat as though I'm starving. The potatoes' skins squeak when I bite into them; the risotto tastes of soft, pungent scapes; the freshly cut asparagus is so crisp and sweet you could almost mistake it for fruit. Merriem smiles at me. We are all holding our stomachs by the time Merriem clears the table and brings out dessert, a bright pink and sticky rhubarb tart dotted with edible flowers. She doles out big scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream with a silver spoon she affectionately refers to as "the shovel," then adds a chunk of honeycomb each of our bowls alongside wedges of the tart.”
― Hannah Tunnicliffe, Season of Salt and Honey

“And, it鈥檚 crazy how a golden stone, God鈥檚 own honeycomb,鈥╢lung above, sprung of love鈥╤as put the stars at ease 鈥�
The truth's revealed!”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Letter 19

“The honey appears on an oval tin tray, craggy blocks of honeycomb oozing their sticky cargo onto the tray. We scoop the honey up with forks (I looked in vain for a spoon), trying hard not to drip on the tired pink carpet that covers the floor of the tent. The honey is not as sweet as that at home, more liquid, and its fragrance is both floral and resinous.
Perched in the tent on a mountain, surrounded by tall pines, the scent of woodsmoke and the sound of the distant water rushing over rocks like the laughter of happy children, this could well be the breakfast of dreams.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy鈥� A Memoir of Sorts