Best 621 quotes in «fruit quotes» category

Beautiful, enticing, forbidden fruit will be offered to you when your "hunger" is greatest. If you are foolish enough to reach for it, your fingers will sink into the rotten mush on the back side. That's the way sin operates in our lives. It promises everything. It delivers nothing but disgust and heartache.

Beaumont's intention was to promote the virtue and nutritional value of fruit-bearing trees. Fifteen different genera of fruit and a number of their different species are described in the work: almonds, apricots, a barberry, cherries, quinces, figs, strawberries, gooseberries, apples, a mulberry, pears, peaches, plums, grapes, and raspberries. Each colored plate illustrates the plant's seed, foliage, blossom, fruit, and sometimes cross sections of the species.

Character that is fruit-producing can be summed up in the mastery of these 5 qualities: morals, but a sense of humor; love, but respect for criticism; intelligence without pretense; humility without self-loathing; and a mind open, but with solid convictions.

Do not rush to judge someone unless his/her fruits reveal the truth. However, don't forget; mostly, it's not the fault of the tree to produce bitter fruits. Sometimes, the soil determines that; blame the source! Deal with the soil! Don't deal with the tree! Other trees are there that the same soil can influence! Don't deal with your enemy, deal with the satan that sponsors them!

Don’t judge a tree by its size, but by its fruit.

Don’t sit at home and wait for mango tree to bring mangoes to you wherever you are. It won’t happen. If you are truly hungry for change, go out of your comfort zone and change the world.

During the course of my research on #herbs mentioned in the #Bible , I found that #pomegranate is regarded as a wonder #fruit in many other.

Faith is a sacred fruit.

Eden fruitarianism is about exposing denial, it's about recognising the invalidity of feeble excuses, it's about unveiling meaningless pretexts, and it's about taking responsibility for all of our actions, facing the consequences of them with honesty and integrity, and finally, and of most significance, it's about making whatever changes are necessary in recognition of our shortcomings.

Everyone knew you shouldn't go biting into fruit offered to you by magical creatures in the woods, even if you'd thought until just five minutes ago that such stories were, you know, only stories.

Faith in God is the fruit of the earth.

Everyone cannot elevate or even revelate at the same time and/or season; an appointment to elevation can result from being specially chosen...like fruit that is ready, ripe and refined for its pleasurable taste. Even scriptural wisdom documents that "Many are called, few are chosen." Those chosen 'few' may deeply sense that at the core function of elevation is an acension both to and from a higher positioned calling for it...a destiny appointment that will be met without haste...separation has the ability to confirm that elevation has its own appointment...prompted by the foreknowledge of a most SUPER natural selection.

Failure is not a hindrance for success but a noble ingredient for a sweeter fruit.

For the weekend before, we had had a blowout of tarts, a tart bender, tart madness- even, I dare say, a Tart-a-pa-looza, if you will forgive one final usage of the construction before we at last bury that cruelly beaten dead pop-culture horse. Tarte aux Pêches, Tarte aux Limettes, Tarte aux Poires, Tarte aux Cerises. Tarte aux Fromage Frais, both with and without Pruneaux. Tarte aux Citron et aux Amandes, Tarte aux Poires à la Bourdalue, and Tarte aux Fraises, which is not "Tart with Freshes," as the name of the Tarte aux Fromage Frais ("Tart with Fresh Cheese," of course) might suggest, but rather Tart with Strawberries, which was a fine little French lesson. (Why are strawberries, in particular, named for freshness? Why not blackberries? Or say, river trout? I love playing amateur- not to say totally ignorant- etymologist....) I made two kinds of pastry in a kitchen so hot that, even with the aid of a food processor, the butter started melting before I could get it incorporated into the dough. Which work resulted in eight tart crusts, perhaps not paragons of the form, but good enough. I made eight fillings for my eight tart crusts. I creamed butter and broke eggs and beat batter until it formed "the ribbon." I poached pears and cherries and plums in red wine.

God designed life to be enjoyed by all, but human being turned things around and made it to be endured.

Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard." [Give me the splendid silent sun]

God gave the seed, but he wants the fruits back. Pick the seeds up. Plant the best ones. He promised the rain. It will be a bumper harvest!

God expects fruits from every calling, every talent and every gift

God will constantly send people to you who need the fruit of your ministry

Here is the offense: "Apart from me, you can do nothing." Apart from Jesus, our leaves will turn yellow and fall off . Apart from Jesus, the fruit we bear will be watery and acidic, unfit for anything. Apart from Jesus, we will wither up and die . . . The problem is our obsession with ourselves.

Grace is the fruit of gratitude.

Her body accepted my brutal seed and took it to swell within, just as the patient earth accepts a falling fruit into its tender soil to cradle and nourish it to grow. Came a time, just springtime last, our infant child pushed through the fragile barrier of her womb. Her legs branched out, just as the wood branches out from these eternal trees around us; but she was not hardy as they. My wife groaned with blood and ceased to breathe. Aye!, a scornful eve that bred the kind of pain only a god can withstand.

I could smell the rich dark scent- she uses only the finest beans, shipped from a plantation off the west coast of Africa- the chocolate infused with spices, the names of which sound like islands in a vanished archipelago. She tells me their names- Tonka. Vanilla. Saffron. Clove. Green ginger. Cardamom. Pink peppercorn. I have never travelled, père, and yet those names take me elsewhere, to undiscovered islands, where even the stars are different. I pick up the chocolate. It is perfectly round, a marble between my fingers. I used to play marbles once, long ago, when I was a boy. I used to put them to my eye and turn them round and round, to see the colors winding through the glass. I put the chocolate, whole, in my mouth. The red glaze tastes of strawberries. But the heart is dark and soft, and smells of autumn, ripe and sweet; of peaches fallen to the ground and apples baked in cinnamon. And as the taste of it fills my mouth and begins to deliver its subtleties, it tastes of oak and tamarind, metal and molasses.

In Proverbs, a wisdom book of the Hebrew Scriptures, a cat would find a few “wisdom” passages as noxious as the Garden of Eden passages. Again the symbology of fruit being eaten

I'd hoped for someone who was remarkably intelligent, but disadvantaged by home circumstance, someone who only needed an hour's extra tuition a week to become some kind of working-class prodigy. I wanted my hour a week to make the difference between a future addicted to heroin and a future studying English at Oxford. That was the sort of kid I wanted, and instead they'd given me someone whose chief interest was in eating fruit. I mean, what did he need to read for? There's an international symbol for the gents' toilets, and he could always get his mother to tell him what was on television.

I feel so much better having this book sitting on my cookbook shelf, just to help balance out the butter and cream being recommended by my array of french cookbooks!

If you shake a tree, fruit must fall, no matter how reluctant it is.

If you wait for the mango fruits to fall, you'd be wasting your time while others are learning how to climb the tree

If you want to know how good a tree is, examine how many birds flock to feed off of its fruit.

I enjoyed the side bars with fun facts and notable sources for where to get more help. Merrin’s such a fun writer; I’d love to see her invite kids into her kitchen for cooking classes. She’d be perfect in the classroom and would entice children to try new foods. It’s the adults that might need fooling.

I hope this book will inspire the kitchen con-artist in you, increase fruit and veggie consumption in your family, and motivate you to become an Accidental Cook. Pass it on!

I'm not one of those fruitarians who advise people to make fruit an arbitrary percentage of their diet and then the rest, greens, nuts and seeds. Nor am I one of those fruitarians obsessed with calorie counting, and analysing the handful of separately classified scientific elements purportedly microscopically available within each fruit.

In the sacred season, we shall harvest the ripen fruit.

I tend to make my joy a private experience and hoard all the fruit for myself, forgetting that the tree doesn’t eat its own fruit but presents it to others.

I spent 33 years and 4 months in active military service . . . And during that period I spent most of my time as a high-class muscle man for Big Business, for Wall Street and the bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism. Thus, I helped make Mexico and especially Tampico safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefit of Wall Street. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1902–1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. I helped make Honduras right for American fruit companies in 1903. In China in 1927, I helped see to it that Standard Oil went on its way unmolested. Our boys were sent off to die with beautiful ideals painted in front of them. No one told them that dollars and cents were the real reason they were marching off to kill and die.

I remember how your eyes widened. I remember staring and staring at the end of your finger until, at last, an emerald blur ripened into realness. And I saw them. The birds. All of them. How they flourished like fruit as your mouth opened and closed and the words wouldn't stop coloring the trees. I remember forgetting the blood. I remember never looking down. Yes, there was war. Yes, we came from its epicenter. In that war, a woman gifted herself a new name- Lan- in that naming claimed herself beautiful, then made that beauty into something worth keeping. For that, a daughter was born, and from that daughter, a son. All this time I told myself we were born from war- bit I was wrong, Ma. We were born from beauty. Let no one mistake us for the fruit of violence- but that violence, having passed through the fruit, failed to spoil it.

I still couldn't believe how creative Annie was in coming up with the different flavors and embellishments for each cupcake; the finished products looked like huge jewels that sparkled appealingly in the counter display and on the black lacquer trays passed by the waitstaff. Annie had had her nose to the grindstone for days, as focused as I'd ever seen her, dicing apples and pears until they looked like nuggets of gold- as well they should, considering what that fruit cost!- and tasted like pure, sweet, warm explosions of flavor baked into the cakes. Annie's dexterity, precision, and speed with a knife had been a sight to behold. My contributions to the cupcakery's opening night were decidedly more mundane: I'd interviewed and hired the night's waitstaff, overseen the completion of the various construction and design projects, and ordered all of the noncooking supplies the shop needed. Treat glowed with sexy, low-lit energy; laughter and music filled the space; hip, beautiful people bit into cupcake after cupcake. If the shop had been in the Marina instead of the Mission, it was just the sort of place I would have visited frequently. But there was no use crying over that spilled buttercream.

I’ve never been with a boy who hasn’t seen me naked. It’s always the squeaky futon, bear-it-all, turn-off-the-lights quickstep. Don’t chalk it up to “daddy issues.” Maybe I’m sick of keeping private parts private. I don’t want rainwater secrets on my lips, tasting of “don’t make too much noise”. October’s dust in my lungs, maybe I don’t want bits of four AM lingering in my subconscious. Smokers breathe in fire, coat their insides in ash. Is that suicide or arson? Listen to me, listen to me. I’m alive. I’M ALIVE. I’m naked and bruised, but I’m alive. I’m not a piece of fruit. Don’t press into my flesh, looking for soft spots. My whole body is tender and rotten, but I’m alive. I’m alive and just because you can see it all, doesn’t mean you know it all

It was a fruit we had never seen before, larger than an apple, about the size of a grapefruit. It was round and yellow like the leaves of a neglected book.

I've got it! Shecret Shauce! We can bottle it and sell it at farmers' markets or on the Internet!" We both laugh at her, but then Anne's face grows thoughtful. "It was pretty good stuff," she says. "Hey, Eleanor, what would happen if we blended it, so no one knew it was fruit cocktail? Then we wouldn't even have to give away the shecret." I get up and walk to Benny's cupboard, pull out ingredients: vegetable oil, soy sauce, garlic powder, salt, pepper, and one can of fruit cocktail. The only thing I can blend it in is Benny's old Osterizer, which actually works better than any appliance I've got. The finished product is a beautiful peach color, silky in texture, and tastes almost perfect. "All it needs is a bit of sweet chili sauce to perk it up," I say. "Here, taste." Who knows? A family dynasty might have been born from the ashes of our fathers.

It is not the size of a tree that matters, but the size of its fruit.

It smells of blood and honey, of sex and song.

I used to be into ‘forbidden fruit’, but I’ve moved on to‘verboten vegetables

I've long been a fan of Hi-Chew, the Japanese fruit chews, for their resilient texture and uncannily accurate fruit flavors: sour cherry, apple, grape, pickled plum, and especially mango, which is closer to the flavor of an actual tropical mango than most imported mangoes.

Lorelei sat at the window of her drawing room, painting in the fading daylight. It was yet another portrait of Jack, her favorite piece of fruit.

Look at all the life in this," she said. "Every pip could become a tree, and every tree could bear another hundred fruits and every fruit could bear another hundred trees. And so on to infinity." I picked the picks from my tongue with my fingers. "Just imagine," she said. "If every seed grew, there'd be no room in the world for anything but pomegranate trees.

Mungu alimuumba mwanadamu ili aitawale dunia. Shetani tayari alikuwepo wakati Adamu anaumbwa. Adamu na Hawa walipokula tunda la mti wa katikati, walikufa kiroho – Yaani, walipoteza sura na asili ya Mungu – Shetani akawashinda kuanzia kipindi hicho na kuendelea. Tulizaliwa katika dhambi. Kila mtu anayezaliwa anazaliwa katika dhambi. Njia pekee ya kuikomboa sura na asili ya Mungu ni kumpokea Yesu (Kristo) kama Bwana na Mwokozi wa maisha yako.

Men sat behind charcoal braziers turning ears of corn and fanning skewered liver kebabs they slipped sizzling into pockets of lavash bread with a tangle of cilantro and mint. Ribbons of fruit leather, apricot, plum, tamarind, and cherry, draped like laundry from wires strung between awnings.

Most successful people move from fear to failure; to faith and then to fruitfulness. That's the trend.

Love is a banana. First you peel it, and then you roll on the condom.