I’d rather somebody hate what I do than be indifferent to it.

Food for her is not food, it is terror, dignity, gratitude, vengeance, joyfulness, humiliation, religion, history, and, of course, love. As if the fruit she always offered us were picked from the destroyed brances of out family tree.

And yet and yet - the last secret of the tree of codes is that nothing can ever reach a definite conclusion. Nowhere as much as there do we feel possibilities shaken by the nearness of realization. The atmosphere becomes possibilities and we shall wander and make a thousand mistakes. We shall wander along yet not be able to understand.

To remember my values, I need to lose certain tastes and find other handles for the memories that they once helped me carry.

We shared the smile of recognizing ourselves in each other.

Few people sufficiently appreciate the colossal task of feeding a world of billions of omnivores who demand meat with their potatoes.

...there are only some many times you can utter "It does not hurt" before it begins to hurt even more than the hurt.