Cooking is the showy side of domesticity.

The World Series is played in my doubtless too-nostalgic imagination in some kind of autumn afternoon light, and seeing it exclusively in the bitter chill of midnight breaks the spell of even the best of games.

If you're being attacked from all sides, it's possible you're doing something right; it's also possible that you are doing everything wrong.

The special virtue of freedom is not that it makes you richer and more powerful but that it gives you more time to understand what it means to be alive.

Frauds master our minds; magicians, like poets and lovers, engage them in a permanent maze of possibilities.

We breathe in our first language, and swim in our second.

There are as many attitudes to cooking as there are people cooking, of course, but I do think that cooking guys tend - I am a guilty party here - to take, or get, undue credit for domestic virtue, when in truth cooking is the most painless and, in its ways, ostentatious of the domestic chores.