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.

Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.

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

At present, I myself do not know of any local witches or warlocks, but there are several people who seem to have an uncanny power over food.

A potato is a poor thing, poorly treated. More often than not it is cooked in so unthinking and ignorant a manner as to make one feel that it has never before been encountered in the kitchen.

I notice that as I get rid of the protective covering of the middle years, I am more openly amused and incautious and less careful socially, and that all this makes for increasingly pleasant contacts with the world.

I like old people when they have aged well. And old houses with an accumulation of sweet honest living in them are good. And the timelessness that only the passing of Time itself can give to objects both inside and outside the spirit is a continuing reassurance.