Browsing Topic Best Pears Quotes

A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy.

Close to the Gates a spacious Garden lies, From the Storms defended and inclement Skies; Four Acres was the allotted Space of Ground, Fenc’d with a green Enclosure all around. Tall thriving Trees confessed the fruitful Mold: The reddening Apple ripens here to Gold, Here the blue Fig with luscious Juice overflows, With deeper Red the full Pomegranate glows, The Branch here bends beneath the weighty Pear, And verdant Olives flourish round the Year.

Oh to be a pear tree – any tree in bloom! With kissing bees singing of the beginning of the world!

If I could blame it on all the mothers and fathers of the world, they of the lessons, the pellets of power, they of the love surrounding you like batter … Blame it on God perhaps? He of the first opening that pushed us all into our first mistakes? No, I’ll blame it on Man For Man is God and man is eating the earth up like a candy bar and not one of them can be left alone with the ocean for it is known he will gulp it all down. The stars (possibly) are safe. At least for the moment. The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.

If music is frozen architecture, then the potpourri is frozen coffee-table gossip… Potpourri is the art of adding apples to pears.

When I was four years old they tried to test my IQ, they showed me this picture of three oranges and a pear. They asked me which one is different and does not belong; they taught me different was wrong.

The stars are pearsthat no one can reach,even for a wedding.Perhaps for a death.

Here was a thing that would grow old; here was a thing that would turn beautiful and lose that beauty, that would inherit the grace but also the bad ear and flawed figure of her mother, that would smile too much and squint too often and spend the last decades of her life creaming away the wrinkles made in youth until she finally gave up and wore a collar of pears to hide a wattle; here was the ordinary sadness of the world.

February. Get ink, shed tears. Write of it, sob your heart out, sing, While torrential slush that roars Burns in the blackness of the spring. Go hire a buggy. For six grivnas, Race through the noice of bells and wheels To where the ink and all you grieving Are muffled when the rainshower falls. To where, like pears burnt black as charcoal, A myriad rooks, plucked from the trees, Fall down into the puddles, hurl Dry sadness deep into the eyes. Below, the wet black earth shows through, With sudden cries the wind is pitted, The more haphazard, the more true The poetry that sobs its heart out.

The raw fruits of the earth were made for human sustenance. Even the white tails of rabbits, according to some theologians, have a purpose, namely to make it easier for sportsmen to shoot them. There are, it is true, some inconveniences: lions and tigers are too fierce, the summer is too hot, and the winter too cold. But these things only began after Adam ate the apple; I before that, all animals were vegetarians, and the season was always spring. If only Adam had been content with peaches and nectarines, grapes and pears and pineapples, these blessings would still be ours.

A pear-tree planted nigh:’Twas charg’d with fruit that made a goodly show,And hung with dangling pears was every bough.

I had to face the facts, I was pear-shaped. I was a bit depressed because I hate pears. ‘Specially their shape.

His pear-shaped head, I could now see, was situated on top of a pear-shaped body, which his black gown caused to resemble a piece of fruit going to a funeral.

Rain-diamonds, this winter morning, embellish the tangle of unpruned pear-tree twigs; each solitaire, placed, it appears, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted clouds – the invisible shared out in endless abundance.

Heaped on the floor were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, bartrels of oysters, re-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.

Sometimes the valley below is like a bowl filled up with fog. I can see hard green figs on two trees and pears on a tree just below me. A fine crop coming in. May summer last a hundred years.

Pears like I prayed all the time, ’bout my work, everywhere, I prayed an’ groaned to the Lord.

In the same [hospitable] manner that a Calabrian would press you to eat his pears.

Of course you know him. Everyone knows a pear-shaped man.

Take shots at em, I guess you could call it a parody. But compared to D, they one-fourth from watermelon to a quarter felon, dude you a pear to me.

I’m going down the apples and pears, into the jam jar, down the frog and toad into the rub-da-dub-dub, and I’m going to have pig’s ear.

A pear is a failed apple.

there was not a tree on the place, only the horrible prickly pear bushes thrusting out their distorted arms as if exulting in their own nakedness.

We complain and complain, but we have lived and seen the blossom -apple, pear, cherry, plum, almond blossom – in the sun; and the best among us cannot pretend they deserve – or could contrive – anything better.

The jelly – the jam and the marmalade, And the cherry-and quince-‘preserves’ she made! And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear, With cinnamon in ’em, and all things rare! And the more we ate was the more to spare, Out to old Aunt Mary’s! Ah!

When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.

I could peel you like a pear and god himself would see the justice in it.

He ate a pear. It was a hard one. It fought back against his grinding teeth. It snapped in juicy protest.

If you want to know the theory and methods of revolution, you must take part in revolution.

The seed of God is in us: Pear seeds grow into pear trees; Hazel seeds into hazel trees; And God seeds into God.

‘My Life’ is soft, with notes of pear and gardenia, but still bold, with a woody base.

Pears are my favorite fruit! Reminds me of childhood.

Pears cannot ripen alone. So we ripened together.

The rose is a rose,And was always a rose.But the theory now goesThat the apple’s a rose,And the pear is, and so’sThe plum, I suppose.The dear only knowsWhat will next prove a rose.You, of course, are a rose -But were always a rose.

Whatever you do, do it gently and unhurriedly, because virtue is not a pear to be eaten in one bite.