I watched the man do this all-important work; his treading was like that of a dancer; his entire being was in action. Leaning on the cross pole and taking the weight off his feet, his body moved with undulating rhythm and sinuous grace. He felt the rice beneath his feet, massaged it, turned it over, almost caressed it in his attempt to separate the precious kernels from their hard and flinty husks. —Sigurd F. Olson,
"Chippewa Harvest," September 1963
The great mystery about William Faulkner was that his silences—he could spend an entire day with you without speaking, if he felt like it—were just as full as most people's conversation. —Anthony West,
"Remembering William Faulkner," January 1969
Of Champagnes I know nothing. Besides which, Champagne is not a wine but a drug. —Hilaire Belloc,
"Advice on Wine, Food, and Other Matters," January 1962
Vegetables, herbs, and fishes marry their essences to produce a magic synthesis—a golden bouillon that is at once accommodating and lusty, velvety and glowing, reflecting all the dreams and sorcery of the Mediterranean. —Jean-Noël Escudier,
"La Cuisine de Provence: Bouillabaisses," March 1967
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