Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.
Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
A statesman who shakes the fruit trees of his neighbors - to dislodge the worms.
I have fruit trees. Cows for fresh milk, yoghurt. My own wheat. I'm basically self-sufficient.
The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit.
Character is like a tree and reputation like a shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing.
I like making pies. I have a bunch of fruit trees in my backyard. My loquat tree sprouted, and I like making loquat pie. They're really hard to peel and everything, and it took me forever, but they make the best pies. They're amazing.
Life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit.
I'd love to see a new form of social security ... everyone taught how to grow their own; fruit and nut trees planted along every street, parks planted out to edibles, every high rise with a roof garden, every school with at least one fruit tree for every kid enrolled.
Even chimps understand the concept - if a troop of chimps enters a fruit tree, they will only pick the fruits that are ripe and leave the others growing. That is sustainability.
Go out on a limb. That's where the fruit is.
The trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit.
He who plants a tree, plants a hope.
A life without love is like a tree without fruit.
I think that if you shake the tree, you ought to be around when the fruit falls to pick it up.
A Christian should resemble a fruit tree with real fruit, not a Christmas tree with decorations tied on
What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open-wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters coming out of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins and blue-birds that sang upon the bough when it was in blossom last Spring. In Summer whole flocks of them come fluttering about the fruit-trees under the window: so I have singing birds all the year round.
Stars and blossoming fruit-trees: utter permanence and extreme fragility give an equal sense of eternity.
Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.
We are born believing. A man bears beliefs as a tree bears apples.
Fame is but a fruit tree- so very unsound. It can never flourish 'till its stock is in the ground.
I have a lot of fruit trees and my own little vegetable garden and chickens. And every time I eat, I bless my food; I say I'm grateful for for it and let it nourish every part of my body.
It is very rare to find ground which produces nothing; if it is not covered with flowers, with fruit trees and grains, it produces briers and pines. It is the same with man; if he is not virtuous, he becomes vicious.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
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