A Quote by Julia Child

The tomato hides its griefs. Internal damage is hard to spot. — © Julia Child
The tomato hides its griefs. Internal damage is hard to spot.
Three tomatoes are walking down the street-a poppa tomato, a mamma tomato, and a little baby tomato. Baby tomato starts lagging behind. Poppa tomato gets angry, goes over to the baby tomato, and smooshes him and says, Catch up.
See, tomato skins are really good at keeping tomato juices inside the tomato, but they have one defect: Moisture can escape from the tops, where the tomatoes were attached to the vine.
Culture hides more than it reveals, and strangely enough what it hides, it hides most effectively from its own participants.
Culture hides much more than it reveals, and strangely enough, what it hides, it hides most effectively from its own participants.
An author never does more damage to his readers than when he hides a difficulty.
If the internal griefs of every man could be read, written on his forehead, how many who now excite envy would appear to be the objects of pity?
I certainly have a lot to lament, as do we all, everybody has their griefs. But the griefs we can fix, shouldn't we go around fixing them?
Stock up your pantry and your freezer with things that aren't perishable: Your favorite jar of tomato sauce that lists "tomato" as the first ingredient, lots of grains, olive oils, vinegars, tomato pastes, onions, shallots. When you go to the store, you only have to pick up meats and produce.
Stock up your pantry and your freezer with things that aren't perishable: Your favorite jar of tomato sauce that lists 'tomato' as the first ingredient, lots of grains, olive oils, vinegars, tomato pastes, onions, shallots. When you go to the store, you only have to pick up meats and produce.
Pamper a tomato, overfeed it, overwater it and you will get a Paris Hilton of a tomato.
There are some griefs so loud/They could bring down the sky/And there are griefs so still/None knows how deep they lie.
When I eat a tomato I look at it the way anyone else would. But when I paint a tomato, then I see it differently.
When I do plays in New York and do eight shows a week, you have the same feeling. Three of them are terrible, four of them are okay and one is really good. It's hard to say what accounts for the really good one or for the terrible ones, but you end up trying to remanufacture whatever worked for the good one, like eating a tomato. I ate a tomato and the show was good, but that of course is not how it works.
The raw tomato, devoured in the garden when freshly picked, is a horn of abundance of simple sensations, a radiating rush in one's mouth that brings with it every pleasure. . . . a tomato, an adventure.
Hard work and diligence are essential to success, but they require an internal motivation. That internal motivation is Vision
I maintain that anyone who still refuses to see, for instance, a horse galloping on a tomato, must be an idiot. A tomato is also a child's balloon - Surrealism, again, having suppressed the word "like."
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