A plane went overhead, flying west in the clear sky. With glasses of Krug champagne in their hands, the First Class passengers were studying the menu: parfait of pheasant and goose liver, smoked salmon mousse and fresh squid salad and a frisée salad with smoked duck julienne, followed by turbot with prawns and apples, roast rack of lamb, or crab leg and prawn ragout, and someone was saying, “How is the quail breast today?”
Down here in Inner Mongolia, an old man squatted holding a bowl against his nose and flicking rice grains into his mouth with chopsticks.
— Paul Theroux, Riding the Iron Rooster
Sweet are the uses of adversity Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.