Manhattan is a narrow island off the coast of New Jersey devoted to the pursuit of lunch.

The Bar Room has a corner table placed strategically at a point diagonally across from the entrance. the table of tables in the setting of settings in the building of buildings. In the religion of lunch, this is the holy of holies.

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Reservations and cloth napkins are really minor pinnacles in the high sierra of the New York lunch. The zenith, the Mount Whitney of lunches, the noon meal at which all local lines of force converge [is] the Bar Room of the Four Seasons.

Little islands are all large prisons; one cannot look at the sea without wishing for the wings of a swallow.

We've gone down as far as Manhattan, but I don't ever remember playing in New Jersey. It's a place we're overdue to play.