A Quote by Bill Buford

The first sign that I'd been unknowingly affected by cooking shows occurred on a Sunday morning when I realized I was talking to myself. I'd been making toast. 'First, we cut our bread,' I whispered. 'Do you know why?' I stopped what I was doing and looked up. 'Let me tell you why.'
People didn't know who I was or why I was there, so they started inventing stories about me. I was a registered sex offender and I'd just been released from prison and was being forced to do community-service work. I was a murderer, an arsonist - all these horrific things had been projected on me because no one knew what to make of this white guy who showed up and made toast at 5 o'clock every morning.
When I first went on Strictly' I had a little phase at the beginning, you know, when I was sat next to this really beautiful lady, Darcey Bussell - this ballerina, this Snow White beauty - that I stopped eating until I looked at myself and realized I looked so gaunt.
I remember my first meeting with Guillermo Del Toro - he couldn't have been warmer, but I always had a kind of immaturity about me dealing with people that were in charge. Not really knowing how to conduct myself. And I got on the floor and curled up into a ball under a desk, which is so weird - as I was doing it, I was like, "Oh, my god, you're a freak. Get up. What are you doing?" And I looked at him like, "I'm so sorry," and he's like, "No, it's natural. Why wouldn't you want to do that?" He's just the most giving person and made me feel not like a freak.
We stopped eating meat many years ago. During the course of a Sunday lunch we happened to look out of the kitchen window at our young lambs playing happily in the fields. Glancing down at our plates, we suddenly realized that we were eating the leg of an animal who had until recently been playing in a field herself. We looked at each other and said, "Wait a minute, we love these sheep-they're such gentle creatures. So why are we eating them?" It was the last time we ever did.
Pepperidge Farm bread. That's fancy bread. You can tell it's fancy because it's wrapped twice. You open it, and it still isn't open. That's why I don't buy it. I don't need another step between me and toast.
Tell me about yourself, Miss Russel." I started to give him the obligatory response, first the demurral and then the reluctant flat autobiography, but some slight air of polite inattention in his manner stopped me. Instead, I found myself grinning at him. "Why don't you tell me about myself, Mr. Holmes?
The only reason I wanted 'Making Toast' as the title is that it is a simple gesture of moving on. Every morning there's the bread and you make the toast and you start the day.
I think I've always been slightly addicted to not repeating myself. When you're doing something the first time around, it's often the best time. I think 'Blank Project' is about carrying on. Its that thing where you're making something because you have to, but you don't know how or why.
I had a period after touring the first record where I didn't agree with the way things worked in the music industry as far as how you release music, demand, the pace of everything. You don't know who's talking to you. Who's Spotify? Who's iTunes? Who are all those bloggers? Who says I have to do this? Why do you have to do all this press? Why do I have to do so many shows? Why do I have to do a regular album right now? I don't understand it.
There are two reasons why I propose to make myself thoroughly and unashamedly happy by talking about myself. The first is that on several occasions, both in England and America, I have been told that I am a legendary character.
So I'm not crazy after all! I thought it looked good myself once I cut it all off. Not one guy likes it, though. They all tell me I look like a first grader or a concentration camp survivor. What's this thing that guys have for girls with long hair? Fascists, the whole bunch of them! Why do guys all think girls with long hair are the classiest, the sweetest, the most feminine? I mean, I myself know at least two hundred and fifty unclassy girls with long hair. Really.
Way back in the 1970s, I was eating a steak, and I looked down, and for the first time it suddenly looked like flesh to me - like a dead creature. In a flash, I realized that every time I ate any kind of meat, something had been killed for me, and I stopped eating all animals, not just cows and pigs but chickens and fish.
I stopped beating up on myself. I stopped asking myself why I didn't sell this number of records, why I don't have corporate sponsorship. I just don't buy into any of that anymore.
When I first started cooking, I was very much an intuitive cook when it came to taste, but that didn't mean I didn't want to know why some things worked and why others did not. My interest took me to culinary school.
The way I look at it within myself, why not? Why can't I be the MVP of the League? Why can't I be the best player in the League? I don't see why-why-why can't I do that? I think I work hard, I think I dedicate myself to the game and sacrifice a lot of things at a young age and I know if I continue to do good, what I can get out of it and if that's me going out or doing whatever, I'm willing to do it because I know in the long run, it's going to help me.
I stopped in the full force of a patch of sunlight in the lobby window and let my skin soak up the energy. I hadn’t realized I needed it until it reached inside and stilled me in a way that only David’s touch had been able to achieve. “Why does that feel so good?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because we’ve been shut in a room for days.” “Like calls to like,” he said. “You’re made of fire now.” “So I’m going to feel like this every time I pass an open flame? Great. Firegasm.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!