| Author |
Quotes |
| George Herbert | He pares his apple that will cleanly feed. |
| George Herbert | A cheerful look makes a dish a feast. |
| George Herbert | Gluttony kills more than the sword. |
| Henry Brinklow | First come, first served. |
| Henry Fielding | When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food It ennobled our hearts and enriched our blood-- Our soldiers were brave and our courtiers were good. Oh! the roast beef of England. And Old England's roast beef. |
| Henry S Leigh | If you wish to grow thinner, diminish your dinner, And take to light claret instead of pale ale; Look down with an utter contempt upon butter, And never touch bread till its toasted--or stale. |
| Homer | Born but to banquet, and to drain the bowl. |
| Horatius Flaccus | Though your threshing floor grind a hundred thousand bushels of corn, not for that reason will your stomach hold more than mine. |
| Horatius Flaccus | The consummate pleasure is not in the costly flavour, but in yourself. Do you seek for sauce for sweating? |
| Horatius Flaccus | A stomach that is seldom empty despises common food. |
| Izaak Walton | This dish of meat is too good for any but anglers, or very honest men. |
| J G Saxe | A very man--not one of nature's clods-- With human failings, whether saint or sinner: Endowed perhaps with genius from the gods But apt to take his temper from his dinner. |
| Jean Baptiste Poquelin Moliere | The genuine Amphitryon is the Amphitryon with whom we dine. |
| Jerome K Jerome | Think of the man who first tried German sausage. |
| Joanna Baillie | Some men are born to feast, and not to fight; Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field, Still on their dinner turn-- Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home, And wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword. |
| Joel Barlow | I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel, My morning incense. and my evening meal, The sweets of Hasty-Pudding. |
| John Dryden | The true Amphitryon. |
| John Gay | What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air, Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare. Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food, And France robs marshes of the croaking brood. |
| John Heywood | God never sendeth mouth but he sendeth meat. |
| John Keats | And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon. |
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