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I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like child stringing beads in kindergarten, - happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another. ↗

— Brenda Ueland

#another #beads #byron #child #feel

Sometimes he spent hours together in the great libraries of Paris, those catacombs of departed authors, rummaging among their hoards of dusty and obsolete works in quest of food for his unhealthy appetite. He was, in a manner, a literary ghoul, feeding in the charnel-house of decayed literature. ↗

— Washington Irving

#literature #reading #food

The radio signal was scrambled, and so were my eggs. I got tired of eating commercial breaks for breakfast. 
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#commercials #eating #eggs #food #radio

I've been talking to myself a lot lately. I don't know what that's about, but my mother was the same way. She hated to make small talk with other people, but get her into a conversation with herself and she was quite the raconteur. She would tell herself a joke and clap her hands together as she let out a laugh; she would murmur to the plants as she watered them, and offer encouragement to the food as she cooked it. Sometimes I would walk into a room and surprise her as she was regaling herself with some delightful story, and I remember how the sound would dry up in her mouth. She stood there, frozen in the headlights of my teenage scorn. ↗

— Dan Chaon

#headlights #talking #food

The way I figure it, everyone gets a miracle. ↗

— John Green

#friendship #missing-person #prom #road-trip #teen-novel

Like most people who love to cook, I like the tangible things...but what I like even more are the intangible things: the familiar voices that fall out of the folds of an old cookbook, or the scenes that replay like a film reel across my kitchen wall. When we fall in love with a certain dish, I think that's what we're often responding to: that something else behind the fork or the spoon, the familiar story that food tells. ↗

— Molly Wizenberg

#food

The first thing I needed, possibly the only thing, was to kiss her and I did, for as long as I could. I let us both breathe for a minute, and I perched her on a counter so I could touch the face I’d missed so much. I poured every bit of frustration, anger, sadness, and worry into that kiss. Meg understood and received it all, pushing her fingers into my hair and giggling against my lips. I didn’t care that anybody passing by could be watching us through the window, or that I could fall right there and sleep for a week. ↗

— Laura Anderson Kurk

#glass-girl #henry-whitmire #high-school #kiss #laura-anderson-kurk

Most brown bread is merely white bread with a fake tan. ↗

— Joel Fuhrman

#whole-food #food

There he got out the luncheon-basket and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger's origin and preferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes. ↗

— Kenneth Grahame

#bread #food #meals #picnics #sausage

I loved the late Gilda Radner. I love Carol Burnett and Lily Tomlin. ↗

— Tracey Ullman

#carol #carol burnett #gilda #i #i love