I Wrote Like A Junkie. I Had

Cooks Must Feed Their Egos As Well As Their Customers.

It Seems To Me That Our Three Basic Needs, For Food And Security And Love, Are So Mixed And Mingled And Entwined That We Cannot Straightly Think Of One Without The Others.

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.

It Is A Curious Fact That No Man Likes To Call Himself A Glutton, And Yet Each Of Us Has In Him A Trace Of Gluttony, Potential Or Actual. I Cannot Believe That There Exists A Single Coherent Human Being Who Will Not Confess, At Least To Himself, That Once Or Twice He Has Stuffed Himself To Bursting Point On Anything From Quail Financiere To Flapjacks, For No Other Reason Than The Beastlike Satisfaction Of His Belly.

In Spite Of All The Talk And Study About Our Next Years, All The Silent Ponderings About What Lies Within Them...it Seems Plain To Us That Many Things Are Wrong In The Present Ones That Can Be, Must Be, Changed. Our Texture Of Belief Has Great Holes In It. Our Pattern Lacks Pieces.