A Quote by M. F. K. Fisher
Brioches are a light, pale yellow, faintly sweet kind of muffin with a characteristic blob on top, rather like a mushroom just pushing crookedly through the ground. Once eaten in Paris, they never taste as good anywhere else.
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There is a sun, a light that for want of another word I can only call yellow, pale sulphur yellow, pale golden citron. How lovely yellow is!
Carter Kane, 14, died tragically in Paris when he was eaten by his sister’s cat Muffin.
You still haven’t eaten your muffin. (Sunshine) ‘Yeah, right. He still hadn’t eaten his boots either, and he’d rather feast on one of them than that thing in her hand.’ (Talon)
Red flag of the eating disorder: the muffin. Keep your eye on the ladies with the muffins... and sometimes I'll just eat the muffin top.
When I first went to Kmart, I was so excited that I could bring my kind of taste to the masses. They didn't have 100 percent cotton sheets at mass market in 1987. We made those in yellow and pink and pale blue.
During college, when I was working full time for my father [the decorator Mark Hampton], I rented an apartment and I just couldn't take time off to paint it. So I went there one evening and stayed up all night painting the place what I thought was a lovely pale yellow. When the sun came up, I realized I'd painted the walls the color of insanity. I had to immediately mix in all my trim color to tone it down. Yellow is an electric color and wholly misleading. It becomes more yellow with the sun's yellow light on it. The moral is, even if you think your yellow is the one, go paler.
When I'm lost in the rain, In your eyes I know I'll find the light to light my way And when I'm scared, losing ground When my world is going crazy You can turn it all around and when I'm down you're there Pushing me to the top You're always there, giving me all you've got
A good taste in art feels the presence or the absence of merit; a just taste discriminates the degree--the poco piu and the poco meno. A good taste rejects faults; a just taste selects excellences. A good taste is often unconscious; a just taste is always conscious. A good taste may be lowered or spoilt; a just taste can only go on refining more and more.
And I don't care what else anyone has ever told you, the Sun is white, not yellow. Human color perception is a complicated business, but if the Sun were yellow, like a yellow lightbulb, then white stuff such as snow would reflect this light and appear yellow-a snow condition confirmed to happen only near fire hydrants.
Once you live in New York, you can't live anywhere else. Living in Paris is like going in slow motion. It's so bourgeois. I get so bored.
A film is just like a muffin. You make it. You put it on the table. One person might say, 'Oh, I don't like it.' One might say it's the best muffin ever made. One might say it's an awful muffin. It's hard for me to say. It's for me to make the muffin.
Somebody who has been in a very bad wreck is going to be very conscientious about not speeding through a yellow light... You just learn so many good lessons when you go through a failed marriage.
What I love about travel and shopping is seeing how different retailers in London, Paris, and New York interpret the same collection. I like to find the best store in town and take a good look because there will always be a nuance that you just can't get anywhere else.
Girls are like apples...the best ones are at the top of the trees. The boys don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just get the rotten apples that are on the ground that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples at the top think there is something wrong with them, when, in reality, they are amazing. They just have to wait for the right boy to come along, the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.
Like wind-- In it, with it, of it. Of it just like a sail, so light and strong that, even when it is bent flat, it gathers all the power of the wind without hampering its course. Like light-- In light, lit through by light, transformed into light. Like the lens which disappears in the light it focuses. Like wind. Like light. Just this--on these expanses, on these heights.
Americans continue to visit Paris not just for Paris, but for ‘Paris.’ As if out of some collective nostalgia for what Paris should be, more than what it is. For someone else’s memories.
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