Bread has always been one of the oldest subjects of fetishism and obsession in my work, the first and the one to which I have remained the most faithful. I painted the same subject 19 years ago 'Basket of Bread, 1929'. By making a very careful comparison of the two pictures, everyone can study all the history of painting right there, from the linear charm of primitivism to stereoscopic hyper-aestheticism.

I like the heat the tenderness the edible the lusciousness the song of a single person the bathtub full of water to bathe myself beneath the water.. ..I like the wheat-fields the plough the apricots those flirts of the sun. But bread above all. (1942)

I have kept track of the boy with the bread.

Katniss, the girl who was on fire!

I know on which side my bread is buttred.

Life is like a bowl of old bread.

I had this cliché moment of a Russian émigré abroad: I really missed black bread. I know it’s stupid, but I really missed it.

She made Herman think of a stale loaf of bread put into a hot oven to be freshened up.

I grew up kissing books and bread,

1961. He knows which Side of his Bread is butter'd.

Bread is the staff of life.

The time-honored bread-sauce of the happy ending.

My first-born. All I can remember of her is how she loved the burned bottom of bread. Can you beat that? Eight children and that's all I remember.

I don't know what it is about food your mother makes for you, especially when it's something that anyone can make - pancakes, meat loaf, tuna salad - but it carries a certain taste of memory.