death ... so seldom happens nowadays in the awesome quiet of a familiar chamber. Most of us die violently, thanks to the advance of science and warfare. If by chance we are meant to end life in our beds, we are whisked like pox victims to the nearest hospital, where we are kept as alone and unaware as possible of the approach of disintegration.

... I think we grieve forever, but that goes for love too, fortunately for us all.

A writing cook and a cooking writer must be bold at the desk as well as the stove.

When we exist without thought or thanksgiving we are not men, but beasts.

... most bereaved souls crave nourishment more tangible than prayers: they want a steak. What is more, they need a steak. Preferably they need it rare, grilled, heavily salted, for that way it is most easily digested, and most quickly turned into the glandular whip their tired adrenals cry for.

Good wine, well drunk, can lend majesty to the human spirit.

One martini is just right. Two martinis are too many. Three martinis are never enough.