Salad Is Roughage And A French Idea.

Probably No Strychnine Has Sent As Many Husbands Into Their Graves As Mealtime Scolding Has, And Nothing Has Driven More Men Into The Arms Of Other Women As The Sound Of A Shrill Whine At Table.

Sharing Our Meals Should Be A Joyful And A Trustful Act, Rather Than The Cursory Fulfillment Of Our Social Obligations.

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.

I Think That When Two People Are Able To Weave That Kind Of Invisible Thread Of Understanding And Sympathy Between Each Other, That Delicate Web, They Should Not Risk Tearing It. It Is Too Rare, And It Lasts Too Short A Time At Best.

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.