It is almost impossible for a parent to hold a secret from a child. Children, without the skills of language, spend years developing instead an intuition. By the time they are fifteen, as I was, they are masters of a kind of clairvoyance that tells them, He is depressed, He is frightened, He is pleased.

O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude...

When I die I’ll go to heaven ‘cause I served my time in hell.

I believe that if ever I had to practice cannibalism, I might manage if there were enough tarragon around.

Written By James Beard

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