You May Feel That You Have Eaten

In General, I Think, Human Beings Are Happiest At Table When They Are Very Young, Very Much In Love Or Very Alone.

When I Write Of Hunger, I Am Really Writing About Love And The Hunger For It, And Warmth And The Love Of It And It Is All One.

Too Few Of Us, Perhaps, Feel That Breaking Of Bread, The Sharing Of Salt, The Common Dipping Into One Bowl, Mean More Than Satisfaction Of A Need. We Make Such Primal Things As Casual As Tunes Heard Over A Radio, Forgetting The Mystery And Strength In Both.

I Am More Modest Now, But I Still Think That One Of The Pleasantest Of All Emotions Is To Know That I, I With My Brain And My Hands, Have Nourished My Beloved Few, That I Have Concocted A Stew Or A Story, A Rarity Or A Plain Dish, To Sustain Them Truly Against The Hungers Of The World.

It Is All A Question Of Weeding Out What You Yourself Like Best To Do, So That You Can Live Most Agreeably In A World Full Of An Increasing Number Of Disagreeable Surprises.