Quotes About Indulgence

Tues. April 16 - Coney Island! Ate only pink things. Threw up. It was worth it.

I lurched away from the table after a few hours feeling like Elvis in Vegas - fat, drugged, and completely out of it.

Like I said before, your body is not a temple, it's an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.

Early moralists who believed that taking too much pleasure at the table led inexorably to bad character-or worse, to sex-were (in the best-case scenario, anyway) absolutely right.

I could eat bloody Elvis - if you put enough vinegar on him.

Toast your goddamn muffins.

It feels good knowing you are part of a long and glorious tradition of suffering, insanity, and excess.

Fine-looking women, smoking and drinking and gambling and doing whatever they like? Sounds good!

Hot, salty, crunchy, and portable, the previously awful-sounding collection of greasy delights can become a Garden of Eden of heart-clogging goodness when you're in a drunken stupor, hungering for fried snacks. At that precise moment, nothing could taste better.

This sounds like positive social change, right? Anything the revs are against is surely a good thing. Fine-looking women, smoking and drinking and gambling and doing whatever they like? Sounds good!

It was a protein rush to the cortex, a clean, three-ingredient high, eaten with the hands. Could anything be better than that?

You know, I'll tell you honestly: if you like food and you haven't come here to eat, you're really missing the fucking boat. This is world-class food; this is world-class wine; this is world-class cheese. The next big thing is Croatia. If you haven't been here, you're a fucking idiot. I'm an idiot.

What is love? Love is eating twenty-four ounces of raw fish at four o'clock in the morning.

Pretty much mention oxtail, and ragù, and I'm ready to slit somebody's throat for a bite.

Quanto mais exótico é o manjar, mais aventuroso é o verdadeiro gourmet e maior a probabilidade de algum incómodo posterior. Não me vou negar aos prazeres de uma morcela, ou de um sashimi, ou mesmo de uma ropa vieja na tasca cubana, só porque às vezes não me sinto muito bem algumas horas depois.

I know what I want. I want it all. I want to try everything once.

By this, I mean simply that many times in my life the statistical probabilities of a fatal outcome have been overwhelming thanks to my sins of excess and poor judgment and my inability to say no to anything that sounded as if it might have been fun. By all rights I should have been, at various times: shot to death, stabbed to death, imprisoned for a significant period of time, or at very least, victimized by a casaba-sized tumor.

It was very cally and vonny, with one bulb in the ceiling with fly-dirt like obscuring its bit of light, and there were early rabbiters slurping away at chai and horrible-looking sausages and slices of kleb which they like wolfed, going wolf wolf wolf and then creeching for more.

Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh.

Yeah baby, give me some of that rancid yak milk.

Like many persons more interested in power than sensual enjoyment, Sillery touched no strong drink.

What on earth could be more luxurious than a sofa, a book, and a cup of coffee?

Greystock brought with him two guns, two fishing-rods, a man-servant, and a huge hamper from Fortnum and Mason's.

Eating is an occupation from which I think a man takes the more pleasure the less he considers it. A rural labourer who sits on the ditch-side with his bread and cheese and an onion has more enjoyment out of it than any Lucullus