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.

There is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of meditation in a music-throbbing chapel, that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread.

It was there [Dijon], I now understand, that I started to grow up, to study, to make love, to eat and drink, to be me and not what I was expected to be. It was there that I learned it is blessed to receive, as well as that every human being, no matter how base, is worthy of my respect and even my envy because he knows something that I may never be old or wise or kind or tender enough to know.

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

When shall we live if not now?

Painting, it is true, was undergoing a series of -isms reminiscent of the whims of a pregnant woman.

Having bowed to the inevitability of the dictum that we must eat to live, we should ignore it and live to eat.