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Quote by Elizabeth Bard

“When we'd arrived in Céreste, our neighbor Arnaud said we should go to the Musée de Salagon, in Mane. In addition to its twelfth-century church and Gallo-Roman ruins, the museum has a wonderful medieval garden. The monks used these herbs to heal as well as to flavor. I've met many people in Provence who use herbal remedies, not because it's trendy, but because it's what their grandmothers taught them. My friend Lynne puts lavender oil on bug bites to reduce the swelling; I recently found Arnaud on his front steps tying small bundles of wild absinthe, which he burns to fumigate the house. Many of the pharmacies in France still sell licorice root for low blood pressure. We drink lemon verbena herbal tea for digestion. I also like the more poetic symbolism of the herbs. I'm planting sage for wisdom, lavender for tenderness (and, according to French folklore, your forty-sixth wedding anniversary), rosemary for remembrance. Thyme is for courage, but there is also the Greek legend that when Paris kidnapped Helen of Troy, each tear that fell to the ground sprouted a tuft of thyme. All things being equal, I prefer courage to tears in my pot roast.”

Quote by Elizabeth Bard

Work

Picnic in Provence: A Memoir with Recipes

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Elizabeth Bard

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“Mushroom hunting in Provence is veiled in secrecy, second only to truffle hunting in the level of dissimulation and suspicion it inspires. If you are lucky enough to find a good spot, you might unearth skinny yellow and black trompettes de la mort (trumpets of death) or flat meaty pleurots (oyster mushrooms) or even small spongelike black morels. If you are not sure exactly what you've found, you can take your basket to the local pharmacy, and the pharmacist will help you sort the culinary from the potentially deadly--- it's part of their training.”

“¿Será acaso porque el amor pasa de quien alaba a quien oye la alabanza? De ninguna manera; pero el amor de uno enciende el amor en otro. Se ama al ausente porque las alabanzas que se le dedican parecen sinceras y brotadas del corazón, que es siempre el caso cuando alaba el que ama. Era así como amaba yo entonces a los hombres, movido por el juicio de otros hombres y no por el tuyo. Así es, Señor, como yace enferma el alma cuando todavía no se funda en la solidez de la verdad: se deja mover según sopla el viento de las opiniones humanas. Su aprobación me habría enardecido, su desaprobación habría herido profundamente mi corazón vanidoso y alejado de tu solidez. Ignoraba que la mente ha de ser iluminada por otra lumbre, ya que no es ella misma la esencia de la verdad. Prefería pensar que tu sustancia inmutable erraba por necesidad, más bien que admitir que mi sustancia mudable yerra por albedrío y encuentra en el error mismo su pena.”