A Man Can Believe A

I Can Find No Room In My Cosmos For A Deity Save As A Waste Product Of Human Weakness, The Excrement Of The Imagination.

Why Always "not Yet"? Do Flowers In Spring Say "not Yet"?

The True Cook Is The Perfect Blend, The Only Perfect Blend, Of Artist And Philosopher. He Knows His Worth: He Holds In His Palm The Happiness Of Mankind, The Welfare Of Generations Yet Unborn.

Bouillabaisse Is Only Good Because Cooked By The French, Who, If They Cared To Try, Could Produce An Excellent And Nutritious Substitute Out Of Cigar Stumps And Empty Matchboxes.

The Families Of Our Friends Are Always A Disappointment.