“I grew up poor in crappy situations various crappy situations. What kept me sane was reading and music. I had so many different literary tastes growing up, be it fiction like Stephen King or Piers Anthony or non-fiction like reading Hunter S. Thompson essays or reading the Beats. I was a huge fan of the Beat movement.” DifferentReadingPoorFictionSituationGrowing UpGrowingFansMovementHugeGrewKingsTasteGrew UpBeatsVariousSaneHuntersEssaysNon FictionPiersHunter's Thompson Author:Corey Taylor
“If you get vegetables in season, the difference is remarkable compared to vegetables that might have been imported. You can't beat fresh ingredients and seasonal fresh ingredients. There's nothing quite like the taste of a beautiful summer strawberry.” IfsHas BeensMightBeautifulDifferencesTasteSummerBeatsSeasonsRemarkableIngredientsVegetablesMight Have BeenStrawberriesFresh Ingredients Author:William Katt
“I grew up in a household where the FryDaddy was always bubbling, and butter and salt were never in short supply. I've never been one to choose the healthy option over the non-healthy option if the healthy option was lacking in taste. I believe a little bad is good for you from time to time. When it comes to maintaining a healthy soul, nothing beats traveling.” IfsBelieveLittlesSoulI BelieveGrewHealthyTasteGrew UpBeatsSaltHouseholdLackingMaintainingHealthy Soul Author:Ian Anthony Dale
“I know the anger lies inside of me like I know the beat of my heart and the taste of my spit. It is easier to be furious than to be yearning. Easier to crucify myself in you than to take on the threatening universe of whiteness by admitting that we are worth wanting each other.” KnowsHeartLyingUniverseMy HeartEasierTasteBeatsYearningThreateningSpitFuriousAdmittingWhiteness Author:Audre Lorde
“The Violins waltzed. The Cellos and Basses provided accompaniment. The Violas mourned their fate, while the Concertmaster showed off. The Flutes did bird imitations…repeatedly, and the reed instruments had the good taste to admire my jacket. The Trumpets held a parade in honor of our great nation, while the French Horns waxed nostalgic about something or other. The Trombones had too much to drink. The Percussion beat the band, and the Tuba stayed home playing cards with his landlady, the Harp, taking sips of warm milk a blue little cup. “But the Composer is still dead.” LittlesStillsHomeNationsToo MuchFateHonorDrinkTasteBandBeatsBirdBlueInstrumentsWarmAdmireCardsCupsMilkComposerImitationHornsJacketsBassViolinTrumpetsNostalgicParadesGood TasteGreat NationsReedsHarpsFlutesViolaPlaying CardsPercussionTromboneTubasFrench Horn Author:Daniel Handler
“I don't know how I know that, but I do. I can feel the beat of that truth inside me. Taste it bitter on my tongue. Sometimes, like now, I didn't think I want to know who I really am.” ThinkingKnowsWantFeelsI CanSometimesKnow HowTasteBeatsTongueBitter Author:Elizabeth Scott