| Amount of texts to »breakfast« | 51, and there are 48 texts (94.12%) with a rating above the adjusted level (-3) |
| Average lenght of texts | 249 Characters |
| Average Rating | 8.333 points, 3 Not rated texts |
| First text | on May 3rd 2000, 22:28:28 wrote Groggy groove about breakfast |
| Latest text | on Sep 13th 2018, 07:14:21 wrote Brock about breakfast |
| Some texts that have not been rated at all
(overall: 3) |
on Mar 5th 2006, 19:04:08 wrote
on Mar 25th 2008, 22:27:08 wrote
on Sep 16th 2005, 10:26:36 wrote |
I still remember breakfasts at the lake. My mother so enjoyed cleaning fish (I'm not kidding) that she sent us out to the lake at sunrise to catch perch and bluegills no bigger than our hands to fry up with scrambled eggs.
She hated catching fish. She loved cleaning them. Whatta mom. Huck Finn would have loved her.
Sure I eat what I advertise. Sure I eat Wheaties for breakfast. A good bowl of Wheaties with bourbon can't be beat.
(Dizzy Dean)
I like British breakfast. I am looking forward to my next trip to England, since it is never the same when I try to make some at home.
Most breakfast foods seem to be brown or yellow or white or orange.
Jams come in lots of different colours, though. I guess that is the only way to get blue or purple into your morning meal.
The thing about breakfast is that my stomach is rarely strong enough, upon having just woken up, to actually eat a monstrous breakful of pancakes and eggs and sausages and cereals and canteloupe slices. Brunch works very nicely, but must be prepared by someone else to really work properly. My solution is to eat a hearty breakfast immediately before going to bed, usually at around 1 AM.
Expect problems and eat them for breakfast.
(Alfred A. Montapert)
To eat well in England, you should have a breakfast three times a day.
(William Somerset Maugham)
All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast.
(John Gunther)
One of the greatest delights when travelling through imaginary countries is the moment of discovery when biting into an unknown fruit. I will never forget the puckering in my mouth and the great shiver that ran down my spine when one morning at breakfast I popped a small boor-geresy into my mouth. Oh, to return to Erewhon!
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