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Quote by B.S. Murthy

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Jewel-less Crown: Saga of Life

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B.S. Murthy

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“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defence of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations, the new needs friends... Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.”

Ratatouille
Book:Ratatouille Script
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“Agnès was from Toulouse, in the south of France, so she knew a thing or two about sun-soaked veggies. She taught me how to sauté the onions until they turned translucent with a pale caramel around the edges. Then she added the slices of eggplant, but no more oil- because eggplant soaks up every liquid within reach. We served it over pasta; we were students, after all. Marie-Chantal brought out the fish. Or, rather, she brought out a solid white mountain with the fish hidden inside. She had baked the bass in a crust of coarse sea salt, which she cracked open at the table with a knife and a hammer. It was spectacular really, like serving baked Alaska for a main course.”

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Book:Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes
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“So simple in concept, ratatouille exists in many variants. Like a folk song, it has crossed continents, and found its way into a hundred different traditions. Marguerite's recipe calls for tomatoes, sweet red peppers, aubergines, onions, garlic, all combined with bay and seasonings, and a good splash of olive oil. Served with grilled red mullet, it makes a simple, wholesome dish, a dish that comes with a line of verse from Margot's favorite poet: The greatest love can only grow beside a dream of equal size. Food is love in Margot's world: simple, warm and constant. As for myself, I am almost two thirds of the way through her book of recipes. I can make madeleines, brioche, pieds paquets, pomponettes, leblebi, chickpea stew with merguez, Marseille-style pizza, aioli, navettes, and fiadoni, the Corsican cheesecake so beloved by Louis' regulars. I know the difference between pâte brisée and pâte feuilletée, fougasse and pissaladière. I know how to fillet rockfish; how to keep the heads for stock; how to stir red saffron through rice to make the most luscious risotto. Cooking has become a joy, an unexpected talent. Domestic magic is humbler, perhaps, than my mother's glamours and tricks, and yet it makes a difference.”

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Book:Vianne
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“I don’t want to be little again. But at the same time I do. I want to be me like I was then, and me as I am now, and me like I’ll be in the future. I want to be me and nothing but me. I want to be crazy as the moon, wild as the wind and still as the earth. I want to be every single thing it’s possible to be. I’m growing and I don’t know how to grow. I’m living but I haven’t started living yet. Sometimes I simply disappear from myself. Sometimes it’s like I’m not here in the world at all and I simply don’t exist. Sometimes I can hardly think. My head just drifts, and the visions that come seem so vivid.”

LifeExistenceGrowing UpChildhood
Book:Jackdaw Summer
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