No Sugar Diet Quotes

All true meanings are hidden. Life is full of secrets, and narrow-minded people, and sugar-coated, empty conversations that hold no weight. What's real is what's inside us. What's important is what we feel. ~ L.J. Shen

I won't get killed,' Rose protested.
Is that a promise?' Fish asked dryly, stirring his tea. 'If you break your word, I'll never believe you again.'
Rose shook her head at him. 'How can you even taste your tea if you put that much sugar in it?'
Don't change the subject. I don't want to be responsible for depriving the world of Rose Brier. Under no circumstances are you allowed to help us do anything more dangerous than ... change the oil in my car. ~ Regina Doman

I do not want to be human. I want to be myself. They think I'm a lion, that I will chase them. I will not deny that I have lions in me. I am the monster in the wood. I have wonders in my house of sugar. I have parts of myself I do not yet understand.
I am not a Good Robot. To tell a story about a robot who wants to be human is a distraction. There is no difference. Alive is alive.
There is only one verb that matters: to be. ~ Catherynne M Valente

I don't eat & drink good clean food because I want my body to look more like Taylor Swift's. Actually, I am among a rare breed of humans that knows my worth is not determined by the size of my ass. That said, I eat and drink clean food because I love myself. Besides, when I eat shitty food, I feel like shit. Period. When I eat refined sugar and a bunch of processed foods, my mind gets all foggy and my body feels lethargic.
No thanks! I mean, how am I supposed to change the world for the better feeling like that? ~ Brooke Hampton

Do you know why people like me are shy about being capitalists? Well, its because we, for as long as we have known you, were capital, like bales of cotton and sacks of sugar, and you were commanding, cruel capitalists, and the memory of this so strong, the experience so recent, that we can't quite bring ourselves to embrace this idea that you think so much of. As for hat we were like before we met you, I no longer care. No periods of time over which my ancestors held sway, no documentation of complex civilisations, is any comfort to me. Even if I really came from people who were living like monkeys in trees, it was better to be that than what happened to me, what I became after I met you. ~ Jamaica Kincaid

Sole Alessandra Torre I've had a lot of firsts in the last three years. Today is a new one. First time throwing a three-year-old Birthday party, Hollywood Style. Too bad my sexier-than-sin husband is absolutely no help. And Cocky is in the pool. And Ben is having a panic attack. And Justin is feeding my child sugar at every opportunity. This is past the dirt, and more than just Hollywood. This is our life as Sole. ~ Alessandra Torre

The fire illuminated the water lights in his eyes. I had to step back sometimes to marvel at how blessed I was. This beautiful young man sitting by the hearth, waiting for me to join him. When I looked at him looking at me, it felt like we were bouncing light off each other.
I was scared that I wasn't up to it, that I'd spill the light on the floor.. The best times were on the stairs in Daniel's apartment building. It was easiest when I wasn't actually in his apartment, but contemplating it from close by. Our love was most manageable when there was no immediate risk that I would wreck it. Often I was overwhelmed by what was happening between us. It made me almost nauseous, as if I'd eaten too much sugar, or was gambling with sums of money I didn't have. I recognized the same symptom in Ming. She couldn't control her excitement at my return if I'd been out all day, so she'd have to hide in a bag until it was safe to come out. Then she'd panic and ricochet all over the place, skidding into walls, banging her head against furniture. It was just too much for her, the onslaught of joy coupled with the threat of its imminent demise. I knew exactly how that felt. ~ Claire Kilroy

99.9 per cent of the matter of all the human bodies on the planet, all 6 billion of them, takes up no more space than a single sugar cube. The rest is made up of empty space and drifts of electrons, nothing more. ~ Olivia Laing

Bennie's corner of Brooklyn looked different every time Sierra passed through it. She stopped at the corner of Washington Avenue and St. John's Place to take in the changing scenery. A half block from where she stood, she'd skinned her knee playing hopscotch while juiced up on iceys and sugar drinks. Bennie's brother, Vincent, had been killed by the cops on the adjacent corner, just a few steps from his own front door. Now her best friend's neighborhood felt like another planet. The place Sierra and Bennie used to get their hair done had turned into a fancy bakery of some kind, and yes, the coffee was good, but you couldn't get a cup for less than three dollars. Plus, every time Sierra went in, the hip, young white kid behind the counter gave her either the don't-cause-no-trouble look or the I-want-to-adopt-you look. The Takeover (as Bennie had dubbed it once) had been going on for a few years now, but tonight its pace seemed to have accelerated tenfold. Sierra couldn't find a single brown face on the block. It looked like a late-night frat party had just let out; she was getting funny stares from all sides--as if she was the out-of-place one, she thought. And then, sadly, she realized she was the out-of-place one. ~ Daniel Jose Older

Sugar had grown up in Charleston, South Carolina: possibly the most luscious of the world's garden cities. Behind every wrought-iron gate or exposed-brick wall in the picturesque peninsula blooming between the Ashley and Cooper Rivers lay a sweet-scented treasure trove of camellias, roses, gardenias, magnolias, tea olives, azaleas and jasmine, everywhere, jasmine.
With its lush greenery, opulent vines, sumptuous hedgerows and candy-colored window boxes, it was no wonder the city's native sons and daughters believed it to be the most beautiful place on earth.
In her first years of exile Sugar had tried to cultivate a reminder of the luxuriant garden delights she had left behind, struggling in sometimes hostile elements to train reluctant honeysuckle and sulky sweet potato vines or nurture creeping jenny and autumn stonecrop. ~ Sarah-Kate Lynch

I placed some of the DNA on the ends of my fingers and rubbed them together. The stuff was sticky. It began to dissolve on my skin. 'It's melting
like cotton candy.'
'Sure. That's the sugar in the DNA,' Smith said.
'Would it taste sweet?'
'No. DNA is an acid, and it's got salts in it. Actually, I've never tasted it.'
Later, I got some dried calf DNA. I placed a bit of the fluff on my tongue. It melted into a gluey ooze that stuck to the roof of my mouth in a blob. The blob felt slippery on my tongue, and the taste of pure DNA appeared. It had a soft taste, unsweet, rather bland, with a touch of acid and a hint of salt. Perhaps like the earth's primordial sea. It faded away.
Page 67, in Richard Preston's biographical essay on Craig Venter, "The Genome Warrior" (originally published in The New Yorker in 2000). ~ Timothy Ferris

You don't have to be here," William offered with his trademark quiet solemnity.
I shook my head but kept my eyes fixed on the closed doors at the end of the hall. "No. I wouldn't miss it." Would rather be home in my slippers watching Judge Judy, sure, but duty calls.
That was my style of party these days. Throw in a slice of Battenberg and some Werther's Originals and I could go wild on a sugar high. But no, today was William's birthday, so I was going to try and keep my grumpy old man behavior to a minimum.
Try being the operative word.
No promises.
My teammate, and the guest of honor for this particular party, tugged on the sleeve of my suit jacket and brought us to a stop. "Hey. Seriously. You're eighteen months sober."
"Has it been eighteen months already?" I stroked the stubble on my chin and cracked a grin. "Time flies when you're killing house plants. ~ L.H. Cosway

Stirred with passion, steamed with love, laced with humor and served with a smile. On the road. No sugar. No milk. Horn OK Please *Smack!!* :-) ~ Kartik Iyengar

Oh, a very sorry people, yes,
Did I find here.
Oh, they had no music,
And they had no beer.
And, oh, everywhere
Where they tried to perch
Belonged to Castle Sugar, Incorporated,
Or the Catholic church. ~ Kurt Vonnegut

Before I fight, I always pray that no one gets hurt. ~ Sugar Ray Leonard

I'm never going to believe a Poirot mystery again. Never. All those witnesses going, "Yes, I remember it was 3:06 p.m. exactly, because I glanced at the clock as I reached for the sugar tongs, and Lady Favisham was quite clearly sitting on the right-hand side of the fireplace."
Bollocks. They have no idea where Lady Favisham was, they just don't want to admit it in front of Poirot. I'm amazed he gets anywhere. ~ Sophie Kinsella

I look back at Silas, who is adding more sugar to his coffee. "Okay. Fine. One class, but only because I might not get another chance once we're back in Ellison. And you have to promise not to tell Scarlett."
"Only if you let me pay for it," he counters.
"Silas," I say threateningly.
He shrugs. "You and Lett are broke. And besides, if you pay for it, Scarlett will know the money is missing."
"Fine," I say dismissively.
"Great. Let's go get you signed up, then," he says, rising and dropping a few crumbled dollars onto the tabletop. I remain seated, mouth open.
"Now?"
"No time like the present. I suppose I've taken Operation Rosie-Gets-a-Life as a personal mission. It's too similar to Operation Silas-Gets-a-Life for me to ignore." He extends a hand to me, and, without thinking, I take it. My heart rate quickens and I want to pull him toward me.
Oh god. What am I thinking? I pull my hand away again and smile nervously. Silas smiles almost sheepishly. Did he feel the same stirring sensation? ~ Jackson Pearce

As pills that are outwardly fair, gilt, and rolled in sugar, but within are full of bitterness, even so lustful pleasure is no sooner hatched but remorse is at hand, ready to supplant her. ~ Daniel Cawdry

Quinn and Lisa

He pulled her to her feet. "Let's go home."
"Sure."
"Want to ride double?"
"On your horse?"
"I promise Thunder will be on his best behavior."
"Quinn, he has no manners. He tried to take a nip out of my hat yesterday."
He groaned. "He didn't."
She held it out. "Look at it. You can see the teeth marks."
"Lizzy, you promised not to make a pet out of my horse."
"What?"
"He's falling in love with you."
She burst out laughing at his grim pronouncement.
"I'm serious," Quinn insisted. "What have you been feeding him?"
"I wasn't supposed to?"
"Lizzy."
"Sugar cubes. He likes them."
"You're hopeless, you know that?"
"I didn't mean to."
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Sure you didn't. Please remember the cattle are sold as beef. This is a working ranch."
"Quinn-" she couldn't resist-"even the pretty little ones? ~ Dee Henderson

...and the smells, you know, the smells- I mean, if only our customers knew; they haven't got a clue about the greatness of these things when they buy them the next morning; you see, when the muffins come down the conveyor belt, and they're thrown from their pockets in the rack pans as the belt turns down-well, this paddlewheel action, if you're standing right there, flings this absolutely amazing hot aroma right into your face-from the Oat Brans, from the Banana-Rhubarbs, especially from the Double Double Chocolates; and then the muffins themselves are so warm and nice-shaped, like these great little trumpet mutes of cake like texture, and you're feeling this kind of glistening inside your cheeks, this liquidy glowing, and you're thinking that these muffins would, you know, just fit so well right in your fist, where you could take them and shove them sugar-warm right into your face-just fill up your mouth and chew and chomp, densely, sweet-texturedly, liquidly ... ; and then, you know, while you're sweet-chomping, it would be like you could smell them with your entire mouth, with your entire sinuses, with your pores...; but all this is gone by the time the muffins are distributed to the delis and diners in the morning, all dead and cold and dry; in fact, no one out there even has the beginning of a clue how good this shit is; ~ Evan Dara

Koschei smiled. His pale lips sought hers, crushing her into a kiss like dying. She tasted sweetness there, as though he still kissed her with honey and sugar on his tongue. When he pulled away, his eyes shone.

"I don't care, Marya Morevna. Kiss him. Take him to your bed, and the vila, too, for all it matters to me. Do you understand me, wife? There need never be any rules between us. Let us be greedy together; let us hoard. Let us hit each other with birch branches and lock each other in dungeons; let us drink each other's blood in the night and betray each other in the sun. Let us lie and lust and take hundreds of lovers; let us dance until snow melts beneath us. Let us steal and eat until we grow fat and roll in the pleasures of life, clutching each other for purchase. Only leave me my death - let me hold this one thing sacred and unmolested and secret - and I will serve you a meal myself, served on a platter of all the world's bounty. Only do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me, and no empress will stand higher. Forget the girls in the factory. Be selfish and cruel and think nothing of them. I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I. I will have you in my hoard, Marya Morevna, my black mirror. ~ Catherynne M. Valente

No candy bars unless I've had a low blood sugar where I'm shaky. ~ Mary Tyler Moore

What's a buckle-bunny?"
She grinned. "It used to be a description of the girls who hung around rodeo cowboys looking to hook up. Now it means any Texas gold digger who's looking for a sugar daddy."
"I'm not a gold digger."
"No, you advise them in your column. You tell them to support themselves and get their priorities straight."
"Everyone should listen to me," I said, and Haven laughed, lifting her glass.
-Ella & Haven ~ Lisa Kleypas

Is this too dressy?" is Southern Lady code for: I look fabulous and it would be in your best interest to tell me so.
"I'm not crazy about it" is code for: I hate that more than sugar-free
punch.
"What do you think about her?" is code for: I don't like her.
"She's always been lovely to me" is code for: I don't like her either.
"She has a big personality" means she's loud as a T. rex.
"She's the nicest person" means she's boring as pound cake.
"She has beautiful skin" means she's white as a tampon.
"She's old" means she's racist as Sandy Duncan in Roots.
"You are so bad!" is Southern Lady code for: That is the tackiest thing I've ever heard and I am delighted that you shared it with me.
"No, you're so bad!" is code for: Let's snitch and bitch.
"She's a character" means drunk.
"She has a good time means slut.
"She's sweet" means Asperger's.
"She's outdoorsy" means lesbian.
"Hmm" is Southern Lady code for: I don't agree with you but am polite enough not to rub your nose in your ignorance.
"Nice talking with you" is code for: Party's over, now scoot. ~ Helen Ellis

I'm going out for muffins." "Give me five minutes to get my shoes on." "I don't have five minutes," I said. "I have things to do. I've got the panic button. I'll be fine. I'll bring a muffin back for you. What do you want, zucchini, no fat, no sugar, extra bran?" I turned to go and Ranger scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom and tossed me onto the bed. "Five minutes," he said, lacing his shoes. I lay there spread-eagle, waiting for him. "Very macho," I said. He grabbed my hand and yanked me to my feet. "Sometimes you try my patience. ~ Janet Evanovich

You can be up to your boobies in
white satin, with gardenias in your hair
and no sugar cane for miles, but you
can still be working on a plantation. ~ Billie Holiday

Bagpipe Music'

It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crêpe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with heads of bison.

John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumb-bells to use when he was fifty.

It's no go the Yogi-Man, it's no go Blavatsky,
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.

Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
It's no go your maidenheads, it's no go your culture,
All we want is a Dunlop tyre and the devil mend the puncture.

The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over.
Mrs Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion,
Said to the midwife 'Take it away; I'm through with overproduction'.

It's no go the gossip column, it's no go the Ceilidh,
All we want is a mother's help and a sugar-stick for the baby.

Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn't count the damage,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
His brother caugh ~ Louis MacNeice

I made a discovery. It was cold enough to make my eyes water, and I found out that If I kept them almost closed, the moisture diffused the lights, so that everything - the Moon, the stars, the street lamp - seemed to have halos and points of scattered light around it. The snow-banks seemed to glitter like a sea of spun sugar, and all the stars were woven together by a lace of incandescence, so that I was walking through a Universe so wild, so wonderful that my heart nearly broke with its beauty.

"For years, I carried that time and place in mind. It's still there. But the thing is, the Universe didn't make it. I did. I saw it, but I saw it because I made myself see it. I took the stars, which are distant suns, and the night, which is the Earth's shadow, and the snow, which is water undergoing a state-change, and I took the tears in my eyes, and I made a wonderland. No one else has ever been able to see it. No one else has ever been able to go there. Not even I can ever return to it physically, it lies thirty-eight years in the past, in the eye-level perspective of a child, its stereoscopic accuracy based on the separation between the eyes of a child. In only one place does it actually exist. In my mind Elizabeth - in my life.

"But I will die, and where will it be, then?"

Elizabeth looked up at him. "In mind mind a little? Along with the rest of you?"

Hawks looked at her. He reached out and, bending forward as tenderly as a child rece ~ Algis Budrys

The pigs had an even harder struggle to counteract the lies put about by Moses, the tame raven. Moses, who was Mr. Jones's especial pet, was a spy and a tale-bearer, but he was also a clever talker. He claimed to know of the existence of a mysterious country called Sugarcandy Mountain, to which all animals went when they died. It was situated somewhere up in the sky, a little distance beyond the clouds, Moses said. In Sugarcandy Mountain it was Sunday seven days a week, clover was in season all the year round, and lump sugar and linseed cake grew on the hedges. The animals hated Moses because he told tales and did no work, but some of them believed in Sugarcandy Mountain, and the pigs had to argue very hard to persuade them that there was no such place. ~ George Orwell

I can safely say that other than macaroni and cheese, there's no processed food in my life. There's no inorganic food in my life these days. There's no junk food. There's not a lot of sugar. There's no soy. I mean, really everything that's going into my body is pretty pure. ~ Ginnifer Goodwin

Someone once said there was a comparison between Sugar Ray Leonard and Sugar Ray Robinson. Believe me, there's no comparison. Sugar Ray Robinson was the greatest. ~ Sugar Ray Leonard

He had to put down the sacks of sugar and coffee then. Because, though he could hold off a mob at the depot with no trouble, even he couldn't kiss a girl with his arms full of contraband. ~ Ann Rinaldi

When I opened my eyes, we were still surrounded by darkness. A lantern, standing on the ground, showed a bubbling well. The water splashing from the well disappeared, almost at once, under the floor on which I was lying, with my head on the knee of the man in the black cloak and the black mask. He was bathing my temples and his hands smelt of death. I tried to push them away and asked, 'Who are you? Where is the voice?' His only answer was a sigh. Suddenly, a hot breath passed over my face and I perceived a white shape, beside the man's black shape, in the darkness. The black shape lifted me on to the white shape, a glad neighing greeted my astounded ears and I murmured, 'Cesar!' The animal quivered. Raoul, I was lying half back on a saddle and I had recognized the white horse out of the PROFETA, which I had so often fed with sugar and sweets. I remembered that, one evening, there was a rumor in the theater that the horse had disappeared and that it had been stolen by the Opera ghost. I believed in the voice, but had never believed in the ghost. Now, however, I began to wonder, with a shiver, whether I was the ghost's prisoner. I called upon the voice to help me, for I should never have imagined that the voice and the ghost were one. You have heard about the Opera ghost, have you not, Raoul?"

"Yes, but tell me what happened when you were on the white horse of the Profeta?"

"I made no movement and let myself go. The black shape held me up, and I made no e ~ Gaston Leroux

Maybe he used to like me, but I doubt he does anymore, now that I've insulted his bird fetish."

Peter smiled. "He's not going to stop liking you over one little argument. I don't think he's the type to just fall for someone and then hate them the next day. We don't live in that kind of world anymore, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when there were thousands of possible mates to choose from, it was like being a huge candy store with a billion types of sugary things to choose from. You could sample one of everything and not worry about whether you'd like it much or whatever, because there was always another jar of candy nearby. But now, there's no candy store. There's a single jawbreaker that you found in the gutter. And there are no more jawbreaker factories. No more candy stores. No more refined sugar. That one jawbreaker you found could be the only one you'll ever have again. You aren't going to just eat it and say goodbye."

His analogy wasn't perfect but I saw where he was going with it. "So I'm like a jawbreaker. A dirty one you find in the gutter."

"Yeah. And he likes that candy. It's his favorite. So he doesn't care that it has smelly feet."

I scowled at him. "How do you know he likes jawbreakers so much?"

"I just know. I can tell a good match when I see one. He needs someone spunky and tough, someone different than other girls. That's you." < ~ Elle Casey

I have no patience at all. ~ Alan Sugar

Don't feel the need to sugarcoat it for me, Doc."
"That was the sugar-coated version. DO you want the ugly truth?"
"Do you charge extra for the ugly truth?"
"No, only sugarcoating incurs an additional charge, like sprinkles. ~ Genna Rulon

I have no doubt that in the future, wearable devices like Fitbit will know my blood pressure, hydration levels and blood sugar levels as well. All of this data has the potential to transform modern medicine and create a whole new era of personalized care. ~ Michael Dell

...It's who you are. You're like a hummingbird, defying reality, a beautiful mystery, spreading your sweetness to all the needy flowers. Well, I'm no pretty garden blossom and I don't need your brand of sugar. ~ Karin Kallmaker

Lastly, tea
unless one is drinking it in the Russian style
should be drunk WITHOUT SUGAR. I know very well that I am in a minority here. But still, how can you call yourself a true tea-lover if you destroy the flavour of your tea by putting sugar in it? It would be equally reasonable to put in pepper or salt. Tea is meant to be bitter, just as beer is meant to be bitter. If you sweeten it, you are no longer tasting the tea, you are merely tasting the sugar; you could make a very similar drink by dissolving sugar in plain hot water. ~ George Orwell

When the middle classes get passionate about politics, they're arguing about their treats - their tax breaks and their investments. When the poor get passionate about politics, they're fighting for their lives.
Politics will always mean more to the poor. Always. That's why we strike and march, and despair when our young say they won't vote. That's why the poor are seen as more vital, more animalistic. No classical music for us - no walking around National Trust properties or buying reclaimed flooring. We don't have nostalgia. We don't do yesterday. We can't bear it. We don't want to be reminded of our past, because it was awful: dying in means, and slums, without literacy, or the vote. Without dignity. It was all so desperate then. That's why the present and the future is for the poor - that's the place in time for us: surviving now, hoping for better later. We live now - for our instant, hot, fast treats, to pep us up: sugar, a cigarette, a new fast song on the radio.
You must never, never forget when you talk to someone poor, that it takes ten times the effort to get anywhere from a bad post code. It's a miracle when someone from a bad post code gets anywhere, son. A miracle they do anything at all. ~ Caitlin Moran

Thoughtful white people know they are inferior to black people. Anyone who has studied the genetic phase of biology knows that white is considered recessive and black is considered dominant. When you want strong coffee, you ask for black coffee. If you want it light, you want it weak, integrated with white milk. Just like these Negroes who weaken themselves and their race by this integrating and intermixing with whites. If you want bread with no nutritional value, you ask for white bread. All the good that was in it has been bleached out of it, and it will constipate you. If you want pure flour, you ask for dark flour, whole-wheat flour. If you want pure sugar, you want dark sugar. ~ Malcolm X

I'm so lucky to play Sugar because she does get the best wardrobe. Sugar is always in something fluffy, feathery, animal print-y, sparkly she doesn't ever stop with the amazing wardrobe. There's a neon number I thought, when I saw the wardrobe in my trailer, that everyone was going to be wearing neon, but no - just Sugar. And it was fantastic it was so fun, I love neon! ~ Vanessa Lengies

Gretel in Darkness:


This is the world we wanted.
All who would have seen us dead
are dead. I hear the witch's cry
break in the moonlight through a sheet
of sugar: God rewards.
Her tongue shrivels into gas....

Now, far from women's arms
And memory of women, in our father's hut
we sleep, are never hungry.
Why do I not forget?
My father bars the door, bars harm
from this house, and it is years.

No one remembers. Even you, my brother,
summer afternoons you look at me as though
you meant to leave,
as though it never happened.
But I killed for you. I see armed firs,
the spires of that gleaming kiln--

Nights I turn to you to hold me
but you are not there.
Am I alone? Spies
hiss in the stillness, Hansel
we are there still, and it is real, real,
that black forest, and the fire in earnest. ~ Louise Gluck

I've been just eating very healthy, all organic, no sugar, white flour, nothing artificial. I'm being so incredibly strict ... not a lot of meat! ~ Danica McKellar

I have been a joy to live with all spring: Upbeat, warm and tender, uncomplicated, and loving. I am no trouble at all. You could press me into dough and make sugar cookies out of me, I've been so sweet. ~ Adriana Trigiani

I know I had that punch comin' to me. I owed you one. No hard feelings, sugar."
"Speak for yourself." Pia's words were coated in frost. "I've all kinds of hard feelings going on over here. ~ Thea Harrison

You know how you wake up in the morning and sometimes you look gorgeous and other times you look like you got hit by a mack truck? I realized that my mack truck is food. If I have no sugar, yeast or wine, I have no undereye bags and my skin is perfect. ~ Mariska Hargitay

What were you going to make for Christmas dinner?" one of my
older children asked in a very reasonable tone. I cleared my throat,
but couldn't speak. There was no real explanation for my behavior. I'd been so intent on getting through this first Christmas without David. I'd found new rituals to replace the old, wrapped gifts, and even made cutout sugar cookies. I'd modified Christmas in order to endure it. What I hadn't done was plan on or prepare a Christmas meal. Everyone was looking at me expectantly by this point, including my sweet, hungry grandchildren.
"I forgot all about Christmas dinner," I finally admitted. No one batted an eye. ~ Mary Potter Kenyon

Camille's eyes fluttered and then closed. The cake was warm and her fork went down again. "Oh," she said quietly.
There was a time I cared: a meat, a vegetable, a starch, some cake. Life had an order, but now the point only seemed to be eating. Here was my daughter, eating, devouring, she was almost through with the cake.
"Did you make this with honey?" Camille asked. There was something in her voice I nearly recognized. It sounded like interest, kindness.
"I did."
"Because sometimes-" She couldn't finish her sentence without stopping for another bite. "You use brown sugar?"
"It's another recipe."
"I like the honey."
"The problems they're having with bees these days," Sam began, but I held up my hand and it silenced him. There was too much pleasure in the moment to hear about the plight of the bees.
My mother took a long, last sip of her drink and then went to the counter to get the cake, the knife, and three more plates. "First the two of you are having a drink on a Tuesday, now we're all eating cake before we finish our dinner." She cut four pieces and gave the first one to Camille, whose plate was empty.
"It's madness. Anarchy. It must make you wonder what's coming next," Sam said.
My mother handed me my plate. I don't eat that much cake, but I never turn down a slice.
The four of us ate, pretending it was a salad course. Camille was right to pick up on the honey. It was the undertone, the melody of the cake. It was no ~ Jeanne Ray