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M. F. K. Fisher Biography

Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher (July 3, 1908 – June 22, 1992) was a preeminent American food writer. She was a founder of the Napa Valley Wine Library. Over her lifetime she wrote 27 books, including a translation of The Physiology of Taste by Brillat-Savarin. Fisher believed that eating well was just one of the "arts of life" and explored this in her writing. W. H. Auden once remarked, "I do not know of anyone in the United States who writes better prose."

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M. F. K. Fisher Quotes

France eats more conciously, more intelligently, than any other nation.

Conciously, Eats, France, Intelligently, Nations

since we must eat to live, we might as well do it with both grace and gusto.

Eat, Grace, Gusto, Meals

death. . . so seldom happens nowadays in the awesome quiet of a familiar chamber. Most of us die violently, thanks to the advance of science and warfare. If by chance we are meant to end life in our beds, we are whisked like pox victims to the nearest hospital, where we are kept as alone and unaware as possible of the approach of disintegration.

Bed, Disintegration, Dying, Hospital, Possible, Warfare

There are may of us who cannot but feel dismal about the future of various cultures. Often it is hard not to agree that we are becoming culinary nitwits, dependent upon fast foods and mass kitchens and megavitamins for our basically rotten nourishment.

Culture, Future, Kitchen, Kitchens, Nitwits, Rotten

Good wine, well drunk, can lend majesty to the human spirit.

Drunk, Good, Lend, Majesty, Wine

I cannot count the good people I know who to my mind would be even better if they bent their spirits to the study of their own hungers.

Bent, Mind, People, Spirits, Would Be

In spite of all the talk and study about our next years, all the silent ponderings about what lies within them. . . it seems plain to us that many things are wrong in the present ones that can be, must be, changed. Our texture of belief has great holes in it. Our pattern lacks pieces.

Belief, Lacks, Lying, Pieces, Present, Years

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.

Believe, Like, Past, Somewhat, Spiritual, Stay

In general, I think, human beings are happiest at table when they are very young, very much in love or very alone.

Beings, Dining Alone, Food, Love, Think, Thinking

At present, I myself do not know of any local witches or warlocks, but there are several people who seem to have an uncanny power over food.

Food, Local, People, Uncanny, Witch

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.

Eggs, Knows, Moment, Oysters, Start, Years

Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg until it is broken.

Broken, Broken Heart, Egg, Eggs, Food, Private

I honestly believe that everything I know about the writing of non-fiction (or writing) could be engraved on the head of a pin with a garden hoe.

Believe, Garden, Head, Hoe, Writing

At its best, [Japanese cooking] is inextricably meshed with aesthetics, with religion, with tradition and history. It is evocative of seasonal changes, or of one's childhood, or of a storm at sea.

Changes, Childhood, Cooking, History, Sea, Tradition

When I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and it is all one.

Food, Hunger, Love, Writing

No yoga exercise, no meditation in a chapel filled with music will rid you of your blues better than the humble task of making your own bread.

Blues, Exercise, Humble, Task, Yoga

I am more modest now, but I still think that one of the pleasantest of all emotions is to know that I, I with my brain and my hands, have nourished my beloved few, that I have concocted a stew or a story, a rarity or a plain dish, to sustain them truly against the hungers of the world.

Food, Hands, Nourished, Pleasantest, Think, Thinking

For anyone addicted to reading commonplace books. . . finding a good new one is much like enduring a familiar recurrence of malaria, with fever, fits of shaking, strange dreams. . . .

Addicted, Book, Dream, Dreams, Like, Reading

I was horribly self-conscious; I wanted everybody to look at me and think me the most fascinating creature in the world, and yet I died a small hideous death if I saw even one person throw a casual glance at me.

Casual, Glance, Hideous, Looks, Self, Thinking

Hunger is more than a problem of belly and guts, and. . . the satisfying of it can and must and does nourish the spirit as well as the body.

Belly, Body, Doe, Problem, Spirit

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