"The sun was shining through the rain thus creating the effect of a second coming not of Christ but of some eerie one-eyed beast, bodiless save for the eye, which in itself is bleary and sad. A thunderclap scared me to death. I was just sitting in my chair growing a beard, my brain lit up like a pinball machine and I prayed for order. Yolanda asked me if I wanted a sandwich. 'A sandwich is perhaps our only hope, our best hope, our last chance to survive this big blow. You are a saint and a genius, Yolanda,' I said. 'Get it yourself,' she said."
- James Tate in this month's Saveur, devoted to sandwiches.