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

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.

I was horribly self-conscious; I wanted everybody to look at me and think me the most fascinating creature in the world, and yet I died a small hideous death if I saw even one person throw a casual glance at me.

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

old age is more bearable if it can be helped by an early acceptance of being loved and of loving.

Most bereaved souls crave nourishment more tangible than prayers: they want a steak.

But if I must be alone, I refuse to be alone as if it were something weak and distasteful, like convalescence.