It was as though he had secrets, and he wanted you to know he would keep them for the pleasure of depriving you of their taste.

Roselyn lost her taste for bacon momentarily, which was as long as she was ever capable of losing it.

It wasn't often that I had difficulty tasting something. Flavor was the way people like me made sense of the world.
We knew that there was a flavor that explained you-even to yourself. A flavor whose truth you recognized when you tasted it. A flavor that answered the question you didn't know you had.
Perhaps it was a voluptuous vanilla that your sharp-edged self could sink into like a pillow. Or a homesick pomegranate, each seed like a ruby slipper that would take you back to the place where you were loved and where people had missed you.

Flavor is, counterintuitively, less than 10% taste and more than 90% smell.

You got a vicious animal inside you. It wants to snap, it wants to attack, but it's harmless because some woman fitted a muzzle on it. Now, how do you imagine it feels about that muzzle? How do you think it will regard the woman the moment that muzzle is off, and she is within biting distance?

They wouldn’t have understood if they found him crying, when he woke and remembered all at once that he had once had a wife and child, so they never found him this way.