It Takes A Wise Man

There Is In Us A Lyric Germ Or Nucleus Which Deserves Respect; It Bids A Man To Ponder Or Create; And In This Dim Corner Of Himself He Can Take Refuge And Find Consolations Which The Society Of His Fellow Creatures Does Not Provide.

One Can Always Trust To Time. Insert A Wedge Of Time And Nearly Everything Straightens Itself Out.

The True Cook Is The Perfect Blend, The Only Perfect Blend, Of Artist And Philosopher. He Knows His Worth: He Holds In His Palm The Happiness Of Mankind, The Welfare Of Generations Yet Unborn.

I Wish The English Still Possessed A Shred Of The Old Sense Of Humour Which Puritanism, And Dyspepsia, And Newspaper Reading, And Tea-drinking Have Nearly Extinguished.

How Hard It Is, Sometimes, To Trust The Evidence Of One's Senses! How Reluctantly The Mind Consents To Reality.