Quotes from M. F. K. Fisher

... I think we grieve forever, but that goes for love too, fortunately for us all.

There is a communication 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.

On the other hand, a flaccid, moping, debauched mollusc, tired from too much love and loose-nerved from general world conditions, can be a shameful thing served raw upon the shell.

Most bereaved souls crave nourishment more tangible than prayers: they want a steak.

It is impossible to think of any good meal, no matter how plain or elegant, without soup or bread in it.

When shall we live if not now?

War is a beastly business, it is true, but one proof we are human is our ability to learn, even from it, how better to exist

Central heating, French rubber goods and cookbooks are three amazing proofs of man's ingenuity in transforming necessity into art, and, of these, cookbooks are perhaps most lastingly delightful.

Probably no strychnine has sent as many husbands into their graves as mealtime scolding has, and nothing has driven more men into the arms of other women as the sound of a shrill whine at table.

In America we eat, collectively, with a glum urge for food to fill us. We are ignorant of flavor. We are as a nation taste-blind.

There is a communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine drunk.

Wine and cheese are ageless companions, like aspirin and aches, or June and moon, or good people and noble ventures.

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

Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg before it is broken.

When I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it… and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied… and it is all one.

[Breadbaking is] one of those almost hypnotic businesses, like a dance from some ancient ceremony. It leaves you filled with one of the world's sweetest smells... there is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of meditation in a music-throbbing chapel, that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread.

Family dinners are more often than not an ordeal of nervous indigestion, preceded by hidden resentment and ennui and accompanied by psychosomatic jitters.

The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight

You may feel that you have eaten too much...But this pastry is like feathers - it is like snow. It is in fact good for you, a digestive!

Family dinners are more often than not an ordeal of nervous indigestion, preceded by hidden resentment and ennui and accompanied by psychosomatic jitters.

Almost every person has something secret he likes to eat.

Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg until it is broken.

There's a communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine drunk.