Write One Good Clean Sentence And Put

In General, I Think, Human Beings Are Happiest At Table When They Are Very Young, Very Much In Love Or Very Alone.

If Time, So Fleeting, Must Like Humans Die, Let It Be Filled With Good Food And Good Talk, And Then Embalmed In The Perfumes Of Conviviality.

There Are Many People Like Me Who Believe Firmly, If Somewhat Incoherently, That Pockets On This Planet Are Filled With What Humans Have Left Behind Them, Both Good And Evil, And That Any Such Spiritual Accumulation Can Stay There Forever, Past Definition Of Such A Stern Word.

Almost Any Normal Oyster Never Knows From One Year To The Next Whether He Is He Or She, And May Start At Any Moment, After The First Year, To Lay Eggs Where Before He Spent His Sexual Energies In Being Exceptionally Masculine.

The Smell Of Good Bread Baking, Like The Sound Of Lightly Flowing Water, Is Indescribable In Its Evocation Of Innocence And Delight... [breadmaking Is] One Of Those Almost Hypnotic Businesses, Like A Dance From Some Ancient Ceremony. It Leaves You Filled With One Of The World's Sweetest Smells... There Is No Chiropractic Treatment, No Yoga Exercise, No Hour Of Meditation In A Music-throbbing Chapel. That Will Leave You Emptier Of Bad Thoughts Than This Homely Ceremony Of Making Bread.