Today's bread does not eliminate yesterday's hunger, much less that of tomorrow.
Every thing in life is a uniform; the only time our bodies are truly in civilian dress is when we're naked.
Words have their own hierarchy, their own protocol, their own artistic titles, their own plebeian stigmas.
A stomach accustomed to hunger is satisfied with very little.
Even death, faced with the option of death or life, she would choose life.
Earthenware is like people, it needs to be well treated.