The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.
A world without tomatoes is like a string quartet without violins.
Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.
Home grown tomatoes, home grown tomatoes What would life be like without homegrown tomatoes Only two things that money can't buy That's true love and home grown tomatoes.
It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.
There is nothing better than picking up sun-warmed tomatoes and smelling them, feeling them and scrutinizing their shiny skins for imperfections, dreaming of ways to serve them.
You need an entire life just to know about tomatoes.
A tomato may be a fruit, but it is a singular fruit. A savory fruit. A fruit that has ambitions far beyond the ambitions of other fruits.
He says I'm beautiful as a red tomato
The tomato hides its griefs. Internal damage is hard to spot.
The raw tomato, devoured in the garden when freshly picked, is a horn of abundance of simple sensations, a radiating rush in one's mouth that brings with it every pleasure. . . . a tomato, an adventure.
When I eat a tomato I look at it the way anyone else would. But when I paint a tomato, then I see it differently.
Of plants tomatoes seemed the most human, eager and fragile and prone to rot.
Do not ask your children to strive for extraordinary lives. Such striving may seem admirable, but it is the way of foolishness. Help them instead to find the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life. Show them the joy of tasting tomatoes, apples and pears. Show them how to cry when pets and people die. Show them the infinite pleasure in the touch of a hand. And make the ordinary come alive for them. The extraordinary will take care of itself.
You say tomato, I say bourbon and coke.
Just when you're beginning to think pretty well of people, you run across somebody who puts sugar on sliced tomatoes.
I'm a tomato freak, but sometimes you have to get it in ketchup form for people to be able to open to tomatoes.
High-tech tomatoes. Mysterious milk. Supersquash. Are we supposed to eat this stuff? Or is it going to eat us?
You know, a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating, just the same.
Country to me is living life at its simplest: Learning to appreciate a sliced vine-ripe tomato with a dash of salt, served between two slices of good bread and eaten over the kitchen sink.
Subtly, in the little ways, joy has been leaking out of our lives. The small pleasures of the ordinary day seem almost contemptible, and glance off us lightly...Perhaps it's a good time to reconsider pleasure at its roots. Changing out of wet shoes and socks, for instance. Bathrobes. Yawning and stretching. Real tomatoes.
I maintain that anyone who still refuses to see, for instance, a horse galloping on a tomato, must be an idiot. A tomato is also a child's balloon - Surrealism, again, having suppressed the word "like."
There is always the temptation in life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for years on end. It is all so self conscience, so apparently moral...But I won't have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous...more extravagant and bright. We are...raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus.
I found that when I went from Albany to Savannah, that I needed to put that white rice away, and I needed to turn that into Savannah red rice because they were big into that sausage, tomato-y, bell pepper-y rice mixture.
Face it girls. I'm older and I have more insurance.
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