I can no more think of my own life without thinking of wine and wines and where they grew for me and why I drank them when I did and why I picked the grapes and where I opened the oldest procurable bottles, and all that, than I can remember living before I breathed.

I cannot count the good people I know who to my mind would be even better if they bent their spirits to the study of their own hungers.

France eats more conciously, more intelligently, than any other nation.

... there can be no more shameless carelessness than with the food we eat for life itself.

Between the ages of twenty and fifty, John Doe spends some twenty thousand hours chewing and swallowing food, more than eight hundred days and nights of steady eating. The mere contemplation of this fact is upsetting enough.

For me, a plain baked potato is the most delicious one....It is soothing and enough.

Brioches are a light, pale yellow, faintly sweet kind of muffin with a characteristic blob on top, rather like a mushroom just pushing crookedly through the ground. Once eaten in Paris, they never taste as good anywhere else.