"If I had a real scrap of paper I’d probably trade it for some string. I’d use this to fasten my bowl to my waist because if I lose it I’m a goner. Without this I can’t eat; this my sink, my pillow, my overcoat - indeed, my chamber pot. Sometimes when marching to work I pretend it is my full belly bulging in front of me - taking more space than is allowed here, bouncing in front of me with an inflexible fullness. No matter there is little to eat, it will always retain its shape. It is my closest friend, this bowl of chipped red enamel, more valuable than precious china. It is a magic bowl, changing shape and depth according to circumstance: bottomless when waiting in the soup line and a mere thimble after I’ve vacuumed its contents, licked the surface of every crack and crevice." Jacobs, A. (1984). Conversations with Gratowski. unpublished novel.)

"If I had a real scrap of paper I’d probably trade it for some string. I’d use this to fasten my bowl to my waist because if I lose it I’m a goner. Without this I can’t eat; this my sink, my pillow, my overcoat - indeed, my chamber pot. Sometimes when marching to work I pretend it is my full belly bulging in front of me - taking more space than is allowed here, bouncing in front of me with an inflexible fullness. No matter there is little to eat, it will always retain its shape. It is my closest friend, this bowl of chipped red enamel, more valuable than precious china. It is a magic bowl, changing shape and depth according to circumstance: bottomless when waiting in the soup line and a mere thimble after I’ve vacuumed its contents, licked the surface of every crack and crevice." Jacobs, A. (1984). Conversations with Gratowski. unpublished novel.)