Hunger reduces one to an utterly spineless, brainless condition, more like the after-effects of influenza than anything else. It is as though all one's blood had been pumped out and lukewarm water substituted.
Undernourished, intelligence becomes like the bloated belly of a starving child: swollen, filled with nothing the body can use.
All my brothers were skinny with a gut. Bone-thin with a bit of a pooch. That's what I fight against.
Hungry people have especially clear minds.
Hunger also changes the world - when eating can't be a habit, then neither can seeing.
"Why, what I may think after dinner," returns Mr. Jobling, "is one thing, my dear Guppy, and what I may think before dinner is another thing."
When I see a child who is hungry, I see a person who is humiliated.
Hunger of the body is altogether different from the shallow, daily hunger of the belly. Those who have known this kind of hunger cannot entirely love, ever again, those who have not.
