It was all cheese and applause.

What do you think? More cheese? Less cheese? Different cheese?

Many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese — toasted mostly.

Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and mellow, and with a two hundred horse-power scent about them that might have been warranted to carry three miles, and knock a man over at two hundred yards.

How can you govern a country with two hundred thirty-eight varieties of cheese?

I am the literary equivalent of a Big Mac and fries.

I am the melted cheese of desire. Please, feel free to double dip.

Willy Loman: I don't want change, I want Swiss cheese!

Cheese, like oil, makes too much of itself. It wants the whole boat to itself. It goes through the hamper, and gives a cheesy flavour to everything else there.

I was blown up while we were eating cheese.

I think we're all bugs and mice, and are only different expressions of an all-inclusive cheese.

Big Mac started life selling paper cups. He was someone else who didn’t believe in wasting time.

Big Z, little Z, what begins with Z? I do.
I'm a zizzer zazzer zuzz, as you can plainly see.

What do you think? More cheese? Less cheese? Different cheese?” Keith held up a measuring cup of shredded mozzarella and looked inquiringly at Veronica across the kitchen island. She was slicing tomatoes but paused mid chop to look up with one raised brow. “When is the answer ever less cheese?” “Fair point.” He dumped the entire cup into the mixing bowl and started to stir.