“I ate some emotional soup in my childhood and have spent a lifetime trying to digest it.”

“Today I ate my manuscript with the very spoon I used to write it with. My book was called “Chicken Noodle Soup for the Stomach.”
I wrote it with alphabet soup, and then edited it with a can of chicken noodle soup.”

“Life is made of fear. Some people eat fear soup three times a day. Some people eat fear soup all the meals there are. I eat it sometimes. When they bring me fear soup to eat, I try not to eat it, I try to send it back. But sometimes I'm too afraid to and have to eat it anyway.”

“The first time I saw a fingerbowl was at the home of my benefactress. [...] The water had a few cherry blossoms in it, and I thought it must be some clear sort of Japanese after-dinner soup and ate every bit of it, including the crisp little blossoms.”

“I ate in the morning what I would digest in the evening; I swallowed as a boy what I would ruminate upon as an older man. I have thoroughly absorbed these writings, implanting them not only in my memory but in my marrow. (Quoted by Josh Foer in Moonwalking With Einstein: The Art and Science of Remembering Everything)”

“partially digested. Like someone ate them from the inside out.” The room went silent for a minute, then I said, “That is creepy.” “I’ll say,” Vic said with a nod. “Maybe some kind of animal ate the body parts, after they were dead,” I suggested. “Yeah, sure, I’d say it was a gerbil but it’s the wrong hole,” Tate said.”