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Quote by MFK Fisher

“Why, Hang Town Fry...I remember once..." Then, for a few minutes or seconds before the part he has been playing so long submerges his real thinking self, and smudges all the outlines into those of a campus character, you see what this big deaf lost man must have been, one night down near the Ferry Building when he ate Hang...Town...Fry...”

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MFK Fisher

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“Earlier that morning, Escoffier ad brought up a large bucket of white rose petals, white violets and vanilla orchids that he'd been thinking of creating a dish with. The pâtissier had crystalized some of the flowers, and left him a plate of meringue shells, a handful of vanilla beans and fresh cream. He wanted to create a new dish for Sarah, a sweet, something surprising, something to engage her. She'd been playing Joan of Arc, the virgin saint, a seventeen-year-old girl. It was a role she made famous, difficult at any age, but for a woman in her mid-forties, it was nearly impossible. Escoffier tossed a handful of white rose petals into Rosa's bathwater. The white skin. The white roses. 'The essence of Saint Joan is in shades of white, like shades of innocence.' 'Spun sugar,' he thought. 'Vanilla cream, of course.”

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Book:White Truffles in Winter
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“The studio was filled with candles. Some Escoffier had brought earlier for their luncheon- they were made from beeswax and filled the air with a sweet caramel scent. The rest were Sarah's. There were exotics such as blood orange oil, frankincense and myrrh. The flowers he had picked- roses, peonies and a spray of lilies- opened into full blossom under the heat of so many flames and joined the heady mix. Like dozens of tiny flickering stars, the candles and their scents made the dark night seem even darker, made the cream of her skin seem incandescent.”

FlowersSmellsCandlesHeadySarah BernhardtAuguste And Sara
Book:White Truffles in Winter
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“Carlos leek altijd over zijn toeren, alsof hij net een stuk of vijf benzedrinetabletten had geslikt. Je kon zijn aandacht niet langer dan één minuut op hetzelfde gericht houden. Van een mening over een stuk van Tennessee Williams sprong hij over op de decorontwerpen van een of andere Fransman, een opname van Sarah Bernhardt die hij op de Universidad had gehoord, een stuk dat een student had geschreven en waarvoor hij overwoog de regering om subsidie te vragen, zodat het kon worden gespeeld. Meeslepend, dat wel, maar niet erg bevredigend. En kon uit al die opwinding kunst voortkomen? Was kunst niet – bijna altijd – emotie die in alle rust tot bespiegeling wordt verheven? Ook voor een zuiderling? Theodore moest lachen om zijn eigen vurige ernst.”

KunstTennessee WilliamsSarah BernhardtEmotieToneelstukDecorontwerp
Book:A Game for the Living
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“You get prettier every day, don't you?" Red said, as he spun the stool. No one called Angela's little girl by her real name. No one could spit it out. Angela had found the name in the family Bible. Apparently, it wanted to stay there. "She's cute as a Dixie cup," Willie said from the service window. "Are you my little Dixie cup?" Red asked, giving her nose a tap. Clapping her hands, the child giggled and squealed. And just like that, Aubrette Orianna Belle was christened Dixie.”

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Book:The Rock Orchard
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“When we stake a claim to the needs and wants of our life, we may easily fail to live up to the standards of others. Empathy and connectedness, however, might bridge the gap, by stirring our consciousness of the sensitive queries and by assessing the intricate framework of our surroundings with their countless, prickly nitty-gritties. ("Absence of Desire")”

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Author:Erik Pevernagie
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