Life, For All Its Agonies...is Exciting And

Words, Living And Ghostly, The Quick And The Dead, Crowd And Jostle The Otherwise Too Empty Corridors Of My Mind ... To Move Among This Bright, Strange, Often Fabulous Herd Of Beings, To Summon Them At My Will, To Fasten Them On To Paper Like Flies, That They May Decorate It, This Is The Pleasure Of Writing.

Once Learnt, This Business Of Cooking Was To Prove An Ever Growing Burden. It Scarcely Bears Thinking About, The Time And Labour That Man And Womankind Has Devoted To The Preparation Of Dishes That Are To Melt And Vanish In A Moment Like Smoke Or A Dream, Like A Shadow, And As A Post That Hastes By, And The Air Closes Behind Them, Afterwards No Sign Where They Went Is To Be Found.

Another Sad Comestive Truth Is That The Best Foods Are The Products Of Infinite And Wearying Trouble. The Trouble Need Not Be Taken By The Consumer, But Someone, Ever Since The Fall, Has Had To Take It.

At The Worst, A House Unkept Cannot Be So Distressing As A Life Unlived.

If Words Are To Change Their Meanings, As Assuredly They Are, Let Each User Of Language Make Such Changes As Please Himself, Put Up His Own Suggestions, And Let The Best Win.