In school I would take bread in Mass and then go home and pray to Allah.
And if governments wanted to take bread from their people to pay for a football circus, they would at least have to admit how much.
The most often heard grumbles from the public are not that the newcomers take bread out of the mouths of the people of England, but that they aggravate an acute housing problem.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themself in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking with a continual change.
No matter the era, the style of clothes, or whether the speaker is Oswald Mosley, Enoch Powell or a modern-day Savonarola, the motif is always the same lie: immigrants take bread out of the mouths of the working class.
There are small artisan bakeries out there that take bread seriously, and there's a growing army of home bakers who are only too happy to invest a bit of time and effort (and to risk the occasional disaster) in the pursuit of real bread.
I was delighted to see his recipe for a strawberry sandwich in the paper this weekend, not because I need help making one (take bread, put some cream, some strawberries and some sugar between it, eat) but because it's nice to be given permission by a proper cook to eat something that somehow seems a bit naughty.
After all, we're trying to take bread off their table, and they're trying to take bread off ours.
If they deny you both, take bread".
Let's take bread as an example.
"We open the window and he puts his head through to take bread and fruit from the table".
