The Quote Garden ™
“I dig old books.” ™
Quotations about Nuts & Seeds
If wishes and buts were clusters of nuts, we'd all have a bowl of granola. ~Strangers with Candy
My children had whole-grain sandwiches laced with peanut butter so thick they couldn't talk for an hour after eating. ~Ethel Pochocki (1925–2010), “Still Acceptably Quaint, But Flirting With ‘Odd,’” 1996
I think the two most beautiful words in the English language are chocolate macadamia. ~John Mariani, "The Seasoned Cook: How Italians Say Shanks," Esquire, 1987
O, the joys of nutting! The clusters hang high,
But the crook brings the branches anear...
We strip the bold clusters and set the branch free,
And deem we have all its nuts shaken;
But others pop out 'neath the leaves, we can see,
So we own we are somewhat mistaken.
~James Rigg, "Nutting Time," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897
Christmas dinner ended with a struggle to crack the nuts. Hazel and almond, brainy walnuts and sleek Brazils. ~Derek Jarman (1942–1994), "How Now Brown Cow," Chroma: A Book of Colour — June '93, 1994
Here is a Southerner, graceful and slim,
In flavor no nut is quite equal to him.
Ha, Monsieur Pecan, you know what it means
To be served with black coffee in French New Orleans.
~Pearl Rivers, "Little Nut People," in St. Nicholas, 1892
Not all the nuts are in the can. ~Saying
Those swarthy hazel-clusters, seamed and chapped,
Or filberts russet-sheathed and velvet-capped...
~Robert Browning, Sordello, 1840
One block, pure green as a pistachio-nut... ~Robert Browning, "The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church (Rome, 15—)," 1845
Pumpkin seeds like cold sea blooms bring me dreams... ~Algernon Swinburne (1837–1909), "In the Pumpkin"
Walnuts the fruiterer's hand in autumn stain,
Blue plumbs and juicy pears augment his gain...
~John Gay (1688–1732), Trivia; or, The Art of Walking the Streets of London
"It is," repeated Monsieur Mutuel, his amiable old walnut-shell countenance very walnut-shelly indeed as he smiled and blinked in the bright morning sunlight... Being told by one of the angelic sex to continue his morning walk and get out, he laughed a walnut-shell laugh, pulled off his cap... and continued his morning walk and got out, like a man of gallantry as he was. ~Charles Dickens, "Somebody's Luggage," 1862
The fruiterers' shops were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were pears and apples clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous hooks that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squab and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner.
The Grocers'! oh, the Grocers'! The blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, the raisins so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint. The figs were moist and pulpy; the French plums blushed in their modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes. ~Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, 1843 [a little altered —tg]
I am carried back to the September and October days at home — such beautiful days— when the skies are so clear and blue, and the air so mild, and everything so still you can hear the pecans as they drop of their own accord down into the heaps of dead leaves — great sycamore leaves, and crimson gum leaves, and russet cottonwood leaves, that all fall so early and pile up so thick that, unless you go down upon your knees in the clean, sweet-smelling heaps, you will never find half the precious nuts hidden away under them. And all about the crowns of the trees the greedy crows are circling and cawing — they love pecans as well as anybody — and the branches are alive with squirrels, little red and gray and black thieves, who are so afraid of not getting their full share that they drop as many nuts as they devour; but the turkeys know the crows' and squirrels' careless tricks, so around and about they stalk, stately and patient, till their share falls at their feet. ~Jeannette Hadermann Walworth, "A Very Handsome Animal," True to Herself, 1888
Original post date 2011 Jul 4
1st major revision 2020 Jun 27
Last saved 2020 Nov 22 Sun 19:18 PST