He makes his cook his merit, and the world visits his dinners and not him.

’Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.

For, say they, when cruising in an empty ship, if you can get nothing better out of the world, get a good dinner out of it, at least.

‘Tis a superstition to insist on a special diet. All is made at last of the same chemical atoms.

What is food to one is to others bitter poison.

No lyric poems live long or please many people which are written by drinkers of water.

A woman should never be seen eating or drinking unless it be lobster salad and champagne, the only truly feminine and becoming viands.

The decline of the aperitif may well be one of the most depressing phenomena of our time.

The proof of the pudding is in the eating.

To safeguard one’s health at the cost of too strict a diet is a tiresome illness indeed.

Why is not a rat as good as a rabbit? Why should men eat shrimps and neglect cockroaches?

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

Most vegetarians I ever saw looked enough like their food to be classed as cannibals.