Quotes by M. F. K. Fisher

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Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.

He loved what he wanted me to be.
One of the stupidest things in an earnest but stupid school of culinary thought is that each of the three daily meals should be “balanced.” Of course, where countless humans are herded together, as in military camps or schools or prisons, it is necessary to strike what is ironically called the happy medium. In this case, what kills the least number with the most ease is the chosen way.
There is a communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine is drunk. And that is my answer when people ask me: Why do you write about hunger, and not wars or love?
He whispered craftily to me, for the hundredth, the thousandth time, that now was the time to help him die.
Passover dishes are probably the most interesting of any in the Jewish cuisine because of the lack of leaven and the resulting challenge to fine cooks. There are all kinds of torten and almond cakes and puddings, and an infinity of uses for mazzah or matzos: matzo klos, or dumplings, cakes and puddings of the matzo meal. Everything is doubly rich, as if to compensate for the lack of leaven, and clarified goose and chicken fat, and beef drippings, carefully excluding suet, are used most artfully.
When I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it.
… I watched the tall plain trees that ring three sides of it being pruned in what seemed a crazily brutal way …. Then, magically, for Christmas Eve and the formal opening with its speeches and music, the tall trees turned into arbres de Noel, twinkling with thousands of little lights the color of champagne.
There is one thing I know I shall never get enough of--champagne. I cannot say when I drank my first, prickly, delicious glass of it. . . . I think I probably started my lifelong affair with Dom Perignon's discovery in 1929, when I first went to France. It does not matter. I would gladly ask for the same end as a poor peasant's there, who is given a glass of champagne on his death bed to cheer him on his way.
If Time, so fleeting, must like humans die, let it be filled with good food and good talk, and then embalmed in the perfumes of conviviality.

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