Digestion is one of the most delicately balanced of all human and perhaps angelic functions.

If time, so fleeting, must like humans die, let it be filled with good food and good talk, and then embalmed in the perfumes of conviviality.

In general, I think, human beings are happiest at table when they are very young, very much in love or very alone.

I like old people when they have aged well.

When a man is small, he loves and hates food with a ferocity which soon dims. At six years old his very bowels will heave when such a dish as creamed carrots or cold tapioca appear before him.

In spite of my conviction that a group of deliberately assembled relatives can be one of the dullest, if not most dangerous, gatherings in the world, I am smugly foolhardly enough to have invited all my available family, more than once, to dine with me.

Write one good clean sentence and put a period at the end of it. Then write another one.