Letters 123.2

My baker is out of bread; but the overseer, or the house-steward, or one of my tenants can supply me therewith. “Bad bread!” you say. But just wait for it; it will become good. Hunger will make even such bread delicate and of the finest flavour. For that reason I must not eat until hunger bids me; so I shall wait and shall not eat until I can either get good bread or else cease to be squeamish about it.

Seneca, Letters to Lucilius 123.2, translated by Richard Mott Gummere