Quotes on Taste

From my experience with wild apples, I can understand that there may be reason for a savage's preferring many kinds of food which the civilized man rejects. The former has the palate of an outdoor man. It takes a savage or wild taste to appreciate a wild fruit.

We are the mirror as well as the face in it. _x000D_ We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity. _x000D_ We are pain and what cures pain both. _x000D_ We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.

Men lose their tempers in defending their taste.

Those who have a why to live for can bear almost any how. The necessary premise is that a person is somehow more than his or her "characteristics," all the emotions, strivings, tastes, and constructions which it pleases us to call "My Life." We have grounds to hope that a Life is something more than a cloud of particles, mere facticity. Go through what is comprehensible and you conclude that only the incomprehensible gives any light.

The camera can be lenient; it is can also expert at being cruel. But its cruelty only produces another kind of beauty, according to the surrealist preferences which rule photographic taste.

Something opens our wings. Something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills the cup in front of us: We taste only sacredness.

We cannot master everything, taste everything, understand everything, drain every experience to its last dregs. But if we have the courage to let almost everything else go, we will probably be able to retain the thing necessary for us-whatever it may be. If we are too eager to have everything, we will almost certainly miss even the one thing we need

I learned that every mortal will taste death. But only some will taste life.

We are the mirror, as well as the face in it. _x000D_ We are tasting the taste of eternity this minute. _x000D_ We are pain and what cures pain. _x000D_ We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours. _x000D_ Soul of the world, no life, nor world remain, _x000D_ no beautiful women and men longing. _x000D_ Only this ancient love circling the holy black stone of nothing. _x000D_ Where the lover is the loved, the horizon and everything within it.

The artist must try to raise the level of taste of the masses, not debase himself to the level of unformed and impoverished taste.

To claim that the souls of men will be happy or unhappy after the death of the body, is to pretend that man will be able to see without eyes, to hear without ears, to taste without a palate, to smell without a nose, and to feel without hands and without skin. Nations who believe themselves very rational, adopt, nevertheless, such ideas.

We often wonder why God gives and takes, constricts and expands. What we forget is that human beings understand things by their opposites. Without dark, we can’t understand light. Without hardship, we wouldn’t *experience* ease. Without the existence of deprivation and loss, we couldn’t grasp the need for gratitude or the virtue of patience. And without separation, we wouldn’t taste the sweetness of reunion. Glory be to the one who gives—even when He takes.

Without freedom of expression, good taste means nothing.

I Wish I Could Give You A Taste Of The Burning Fire Of Love. There Is A Fire Blazing Inside Of Me. If I Cry About It, Or If I Don’t, The Fire Is At Work, Night And Day.

Taste may change, but inclination never.

Fashions come and go; bad taste is timeless.

A wine goes in my mouth, and I just see it. I see it in three dimensions. The textures. The flavours. The smells. They jump out at me. When I put my nose in a glass, it's like tunnel vision. I move into another world, where everything around me is gone, and every bit of mental energy is focused on that wine.

In every power, of which taste is the foundation, excellence is pretty fairly divided between the sexes.

An instinctive taste teaches men to build their churches with spire steeples which point as with a silent finger to the sky and stars.

The breezes taste Of apple peel. The air is full Of smells to feel- Ripe fruit, old footballs, Burning brush, New books, erasers, Chalk, and such. The bee, his hive, Well-honeyed hum, And Mother cuts Chrysanthemums. Like plates washed clean With suds, the days Are polished with A morning haze.

Although a skillful flatterer is a most delightful companion if you have him all to yourself, his taste becomes very doubtful when he takes to complimenting other people.