Best 55 quotes in «grapes quotes» category

I look like the wrath of grapes.

I never give anyone just one congratulation. Congratulations are always plural. They are similar to grapes.

I once owned a collection of 77 novels that won the Pulitzer. The only good novel of the bunch was The Grapes of Wrath.

I've never had any delusions about being a leading man, and it's not sour grapes to say that in the best films that I've always enjoyed, the cliched leading man type isn't a part of the picture.

I went to the juice isle, I learned something. Cranberries are taking over everything. What do you got, apples? Put some cranberrise in there, make it 50/50. Cran-apple. Grapes? Cran-grape. Mangos? Cran-mango. Pork chops? Cran-chop!

I thought these grapes were ripe, but I see now they are quite sour.

I wrote The Grapes of Wrath in one hundred days, but many years of preparation preceded it.

The heart, like the grape, is prone to delivering its harvest in the same moment it appears to be crushed.

Put a good bunch of grapes under the winepress, and a delicious juice will come out. Under the winepress of the cross, our soul produces a juice that feeds and strengthens us. When we haven't got any crosses, we are dry. If we carry them with resignation, what happiness, what sweetness we feel!

The Fox, when hee cannot reach the grapes, saies they are not ripe.

My life will be sour grapes and ashes without you.

The grape gains its purple tinge by looking at another grape. [Lat., Uvaque conspecta livorem ducit ab uva.]

The word snob belongs to the sour-grape vocabulary.

There are purple grapes in the Land of Git-Thare.

The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.

We must meditate, brothers. These grapes will yield no wine we tread upon it.

Victory won't come to me unless I go to it; a grape tendril ties a knot in knots till knotted thirty times

There is stuff I would have liked to have done. But there are no sour grapes.

Wherever wine grapes are grown, it is beautiful.

You know the type: loud as a motorbike but wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight.

You could think of extraordinary examples to the contrary: The Grapes of Wrath... and even into the 70s.

Without good company all dainties Lose their true relish, and like painted grapes, Are only seen, not tasted.

Each grape she pulled off grew back again on the cluster. In the dream it was evident that the girl had spent many years at that infinite window trying to finish the cluster, and was in no hurry to so because she knew that in the last grape lay death.

As he lifted the leather-bound cover, the musty smell of paper rose up. He turned the first mottled leaf and looked down at an elaborately drawn image. A brimming goblet was decorated with curling vines and bunches of grapes. But instead of wine or water, the cup was filled with words. John stared at the alien symbols. He could not read. Around the goblet a strange garden grew. Honeycombs dripped and flowers like crocuses sprouted among thick-trunked trees. Vines draped themselves about their branches which bristled with leaves and bent under heavy bunches of fruit. In the far background John spied a roof with a tall chimney. His mother settled beside him. 'Palm trees...' she said. 'These are dates. Honey came from the hives and saffron came from these flowers. Grapes swelled on the vine...

My love, suddenly your hip is the curve of the wineglass filled to the brim, your breast is the cluster, your hair the light of alcohol, your nipples, the grapes your navel pure seal stamped on your barrel of a belly, and your love the cascade of unquenchable wine, the brightness that falls on my senses, the earthen splendor of life.

He came of a race of drinkers who look contemptuously upon an alcoholic content of twelve percent, unaware that the fermented grape works its enchantments more subtly than the distilled spirits of grain. I do not imply that he was drunk; let us say, rather, that the Tears of Christ opened his heart.

Seek more strength for weaker spine No grape grows on sinner’s vine

The next morning we experienced our very first “full English breakfast,” which consisted of tea, orange juice, cookies, oatmeal, granola, berries, bananas, croissants, grapes, pineapples, prunes, yogurt, five kinds of cold cereal, eggs, hash browns, back bacon, sausage, smoked salmon, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans, toast, butter, jam, jelly, and honey. I don’t know how the British do it.

I loved Vinalia. Every year Passia and I looked forward to the first feast of the three-day festival. Aelia would line up the servants on both sides of the long hallway leading from the front door through the atrium. Together Apicius, Apicata, and Aelia would walk the lines and place a grape on the tongue of each slave and say a blessing to the lady Venus. Then Apicius would have ten jars of his best Falernian wine brought up from the cellar and he would give them to his most loyal servants. I would make sweet curds and honey tarts for the whole household, slaves included, and we would read poetry and listen to music.

No se necesita valor para hacer una cosa cuando es lo único que puedes hacer.

our feet are grape-squashed in memories our skins are still flushed from the touch of summer’s lips.

The fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children's teeth have been set on edge.

The sun had already set behind the mountains, and the sky had been drained of color. The trellises of sauvignon blanc flowed down the hill in even rows toward the valley floor. Whatever I was looking for, it wasn’t outside. As far as I could tell, the grapes were minding their own business.

The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong.

Wine had to be grapes first. Diamonds had to be rocks first. Butterflies had to be caterpillars first. Rainbows had to be storms first.

All holy piety in public, and all peeled grapes and self-indulgence in private.

You are but a tiny cluster upon the vines of heaven, where the grapes are worlds; yet you hold the power to ripen your bitter berries and add to the eternal vintage of cosmic sweetness if so you will.

And never since harvests were ripened, / Or laborers born, / Have men gathered figs of the thistle, / Or grapes of the thorn!

Bewildered is the fox who lives to find that grapes beyond reach can be really sour.

Bring me wine, but wine which never grew In the belly of the grape

Almost everything in 'A Day With Wilbur Robinson' has some basis in truth. And yes, my sister did pay me to feed her grapes while she talked to her boyfriend on the phone.

A winemaker never, never changes the character of a wine. The character comes from the grapes.

Fresh grapes and wine are perhaps the most luscious foods we mortals encounter during our sojourn here.

Do you seriously envision St. Paul or Calvin or Luther opening bottles of Welch's Grape Juice in the sacristy before the service? Luther at least would turn over in his grave.

Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.

I am certain that the good Lord never intended grapes to be made into grape jelly.

I am sure the grapes are sour.

Forsake Alcohol, eat grapes instead!

guilt to motherhood is like grapes to wine

He who knows nothing loves nothing. He who can do nothing understands nothing. He who understands nothing is worthless. But he who understands also loves, notices, sees. The more knowledge is inherent in a thing, the greater the love.