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Quote by Jean de La Bruyère

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Les Caractères

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Jean de La Bruyère

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“Then just when I thought I was going to really break down for a good cry, I remembered a large bag of pistachio nuts in the back of the pantry. I don't know what made me think of them. I had hidden them beneath several packages of dried pasta. Sam liked pistachio nuts. I bought them for a cake recipe I had seen in Gourmet. I stood up like a sleepwalker, my hands empty of sheets or shoes. I would take care of all this once the cake was in the oven. The recipe was from several months ago. I didn't remember which issue. I would find it. I would bake a cake. My father liked exotic things. On the rare occasions we went out to dinner together over the years, he always wanted us to go to some little Ethiopian restaurant down a back alley or he would say he had to have Mongolian food. He would like this cake. It was Iranian. There was a full tablespoon of cardamom sifted in with the flour, and I could imagine that it would make the cake taste nearly peppered, which would serve to balance out all the salt. I stood in the kitchen, reading the magazine while the sharp husks of the nuts bit into the pads of my fingers. I rolled the nut meat between my palms until the bright spring green of the pistachios shone in my hands, a fist full of emeralds. I would grind the nuts into powder without letting them turn to paste. I would butter the parchment paper and line the bottom of the pan. It was the steps, the clear and simple rules baking, that soothed me. My father would love this cake, and my mother would find this cake interesting, and Sam wouldn't be crazy about it but he'd be hungry and have a slice anyway. Maybe I could convince Camille it wasn't a cake at all. Maybe I could bring them all together, or at least that's what I dreamed about while I measured out the oil.”

“I go to the counter and take a blondie off the rack I used to do the chocolate drizzle and bite into it. They have browned butter and a combination of dark and light brown sugar, which gives them a deep caramel tang. The pistachios have retained their crunch, and the figs are just slightly tart. The white chocolate takes the whole thing over the top, and I know that, if nothing else, I can cook.”

“Jane and Noah fell silent as she opened it to the first page, a vibrant watercolor of a forest-green shrub laden with dark purple fruits, with the fruits shown in detail in a separate drawing. 'Aristotelia chilensis--- maqui berries,' said Jane. 'Full of antioxidants and touted as a "superfood" now.' There was a note in pencil at the bottom of the page. 'Leaves used for brewing chicha,' Noah read. 'Whatever that is. "Sore throats, heals wounds, painkiller",' he continued. 'Extraordinary. I can't believe the condition it's in. It's scarcely aged at all.' He turned the page to find a painting of a tall, oak-like tree with dark brown bark, oval-shaped green leaves and dense white flowers. 'Quillaja saponaria--- soapbark,' he read. 'Native soap, for the lungs and good health.”

“I know it must have been hell for you, alone on that island for 5 years, but I'm... -But what? But was there ever a day when you were just... happy to be away from everything? No pressure from your family. No need to be the person everyone else expects you to be, was there ever a day when... -When I didn't feel lost, I felt... free? More than one and uh... Those are the days that I miss. -Huntress and Oliver, S1: E7, Arrow”

“Sooner or later, we all go through a crucible. I'm guessing your's was that island. Most believe there are two types of people who go into a crucible: the ones who grow stronger from the experience and survive it, and the ones who die. But there's a third type: the ones who learn to love the fire. They chose to stay in their crucible because it's easier to embrace the pain when it's all you know anymore,”