Proust had his madeleines; I am devastated by the scent of yeast bread rising. – Bert Greene
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Acceptable food rots while we are chased from bins behind restaurants, chased from sleeping on the street, chased from relieving ourselves unless we pay for food or gas, until finally we are so hungry, sleepless, smelly, constipated and beaten-down that we simply die of lack of will to live. – Jane Siberry
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But he wore a moustache—a shaggy moustache too: nothing in the meek and merciful way, but quite in the fierce and scornful style: the regular Satanic sort of thing—and he wore, besides, a vast quantity of unbrushed hair. – Charles Dickens, The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit, 1843
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