Quotes About Taste

Popular culture is simply a reflection of what the majority seems to want.

I did an about-face and veered into the sandwich shop. What I ordered is none of your business, but it was really good.

What I could see of the apartment looked much like the office: gold high-low carpeting, Early American furniture, probably from Montgomery Ward. A painting of Jesus hung on the wall at the foot of the bed. He had his palms open, eyes lifted towards heaven- pained no doubt, by Ori's home decorating taste.

There are not more than five cardinal tastes, yet combinations of them yield more flavours than can ever be tasted.

It's amazing. I never used to like red cabbage, but now when I get only a teaspoon of it, it's all I can think about. How lovely. How tasty. How not fish it is.

him. "This isn't the only item I questioned," he said. "I want to taste the others, too." "Try this first," she said, making no effort to conceal her certainty. "Taste it and weep. I'm going to step back a little so you'll have room to come crawling to me." Yeah, right. She'd served fish and chips. How good could

Because your brain is wired to experience rewards from different facets of music than my brain, it is misguided to suggest that anyone's taste in music is superior to anyone else's.

Rules of taste enforce structures of power.

Passion paralyzes good taste.

When something is just bad (rather than Camp), it's often because it is too mediocre in its ambition.

Like a car, a camera is sold as a predatory weapon—one that's as automated as possible, ready to spring. Popular taste expects an easy, an invisible technology.

One must distinguish between naïve and deliberate Camp. Pure Camp is always naive. Camp which knows itself to be Camp (camping) is usually less satisfying.

The ultimate Camp statement: it's good because it's awful

Taste has no system and no proofs. But there is something like a logic of taste: the consistent sensibility which underlies and gives rise to a certain taste.

Not all homosexuals have Camp taste. But homosexuals, by and large, constitute the vanguard –and the most articulate audience– of Camp.

Camp taste is a kind of love, love for human nature. It relishes, rather than judges, the little triumphs and awkward intensities of character.

I have a palate, Williams. A precious possession. And I have no intention of prostituting it to pickles.

I hadn't liked him at first. He did sort of grow on you after a while. Like the cosmopolitans. Or maybe because of the cosmopolitans.

I think it was the ChapStick that did it; he tasted like ChapStick and Jack Daniels. That reminder of human vulnerability got to me in a way that polished experience wouldn't have. Not that he had lied about the experience.

Her expression is blank and demure, but this girl and I, we have the same shape mouth. I recognize the way she's set it, like she's got a ball of mutiny in there, and she is rolling it around to get a thorough taste. She's not half as placid as she looks.

She'd only set my mouth, giving me her taste for called saints, good books, and angry men.

Did you know that Lincoln liked popcorn, and oysters, and a good strong cup of coffee?

No coffee worth drinking requires cream.

Odio profundamente el café de Starbucks