Apples Quotes

“Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

“And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart:

Your seeds shall live in my body,
And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,
And your fragrance shall be my breath,
And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons.”
― Khalil Gibran

“People who are too optimistic seem annoying. This is an unfortunate misinterpretation of what an optimist really is.

An optimist is neither naive, nor blind to the facts, nor in denial of grim reality. An optimist believes in the optimal usage of all options available, no matter how limited. As such, an optimist always sees the big picture. How else to keep track of all that’s out there? An optimist is simply a proactive realist.

An idealist focuses only on the best aspects of all things (sometimes in detriment to reality); an optimist strives to find an effective solution. A pessimist sees limited or no choices in dark times; an optimist makes choices.

When bobbing for apples, an idealist endlessly reaches for the best apple, a pessimist settles for the first one within reach, while an optimist drains the barrel, fishes out all the apples and makes pie.

Annoying? Yes. But, oh-so tasty!”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes.”
― Helen Bevington, When Found, Make a Verse of

“Bean finds the best apple in our tree and hands it up to me. "You know what this tastes like when you first bite into it?" she asks.
"No, what?"
"Blue sky."
"You're zoomed."
"You ever eat blue sky?"
"No," I admit.
"Try it sometime," she says. "It's apple-flavored.”
― Rodman Philbrick, The Last Book in the Universe

“And then there is that day when all around,
all around you hear the dropping of the apples, one
by one, from the trees. At first it is one here and one there,
and then it is three and then it is four and then nine and
twenty, until the apples plummet like rain, fall like horse hoofs
in the soft, darkening grass, and you are the last apple on the
tree; and you wait for the wind to work you slowly free from
your hold upon the sky, and drop you down and down. Long
before you hit the grass you will have forgotten there ever
was a tree, or other apples, or a summer, or green grass below,
You will fall in darkness...”
― Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

“On the trees are only a few gnarled apples that the pickers have rejected. They look like the knuckles of Doctor Reefy's hands. One nibbles at them and they are delicious. Into a little round place at the side of the apple has been gathered all its sweetness. One runs from tree to tree over the frosted ground picking the gnarled, twisted apples and filling his pockets with them. Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples.”
― Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio

“Dutifully, the Count put the spoon in his mouth. In an instant, there was the familiar sweetness of fresh honey—sunlit, golden, and gay. Given the time of year, the Count was expecting this first impression to be followed by a hint of lilacs from the Alexander Gardens or cherry blossoms from the Garden Ring. But as the elixir dissolved on his tongue, the Count became aware of something else entirely. Rather than the flowering trees of Central Moscow, the honey had a hint of a grassy riverbank . . . the trace of a summer breeze . . . a suggestion of a pergola . . . But most of all there was the unmistakable essence of a thousand apple trees in bloom.
"Nizhny Novgorod", he said.
And it was.”
― Amor Towles, A Gentleman in Moscow

“An apple tree is just like a person. In order to thrive, it needs companionship that's similar to it in some ways, but quite different than others.”
― Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Orchard

“THE ORGANIC FOODS MYTH

A few decades ago, a woman tried to sue a butter company that had printed the word 'LITE' on its product's packaging. She claimed to have gained so much weight from eating the butter, even though it was labeled as being 'LITE'. In court, the lawyer representing the butter company simply held up the container of butter and said to the judge, "My client did not lie. The container is indeed 'light in weight'. The woman lost the case.

In a marketing class in college, we were assigned this case study to show us that 'puffery' is legal. This means that you can deceptively use words with double meanings to sell a product, even though they could mislead customers into thinking your words mean something different. I am using this example to touch upon the myth of organic foods. If I was a lawyer representing a company that had labeled its oranges as being organic, and a man was suing my client because he found out that the oranges were being sprayed with toxins, my defense opening statement would be very simple: "If it's not plastic or metallic, it's organic."

Most products labeled as being organic are not really organic. This is the truth. You pay premium prices for products you think are grown without chemicals, but most products are. If an apple is labeled as being organic, it could mean two things. Either the apple tree itself is free from chemicals, or just the soil. One or the other, but rarely both. The truth is, the word 'organic' can mean many things, and taking a farmer to court would be difficult if you found out his fruits were indeed sprayed with pesticides. After all, all organisms on earth are scientifically labeled as being organic, unless they are made of plastic or metal. The word 'organic' comes from the word 'organism', meaning something that is, or once was, living and breathing air, water and sunlight.

So, the next time you stroll through your local supermarket and see brown pears that are labeled as being organic, know that they could have been third-rate fare sourced from the last day of a weekend market, and have been re-labeled to be sold to a gullible crowd for a premium price. I have a friend who thinks that organic foods have to look beat up and deformed because the use of chemicals is what makes them look perfect and flawless. This is not true. Chemical-free foods can look perfect if grown in your backyard. If you go to jungles or forests untouched by man, you will see fruit and vegetables that look like they sprouted from trees from Heaven. So be cautious the next time you buy anything labeled as 'organic'. Unless you personally know the farmer or the company selling the products, don't trust what you read. You, me, and everything on land and sea are organic.


Suzy Kassem,
Truth Is Crying”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

“It's unsettling to meet people who don't eat apples.”
― Aimee Bender, The Color Master: Stories

“Every thought is a seed. If you plant crab apples, don't count on harvesting Golden Delicious.”
― Bill Meyer

“Actually, they didn't have chocolate in Ancient Greece, but Aphrodite was fond of apples. That was her sacred fruit, maybe because it was pretty and sweet, just like her. (Insert gagging sounds here.)”
― Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson's Greek Gods

“Beneath the window, set between gravel walkways, a few woody lavenders, etiolated rosemary bushes, and ornamental thyme made up the aromatherapy garden that he had seen described in the brochure. Beyond this, however, running a long arc down the gentle slope of lawn, camellias in unrestrained bloom provided an alternative tonic. The lawn gave way to a flower garden, itself fringed by a wood, so that the incarcerated had at least the consolation of a pleasant enough outlook.
Gabe stood in front of the fireplace and examined the painting that hung above the mantelpiece. It was a still life. It showed two apples and a brown and white feather laid on a velvet cloth on a table placed by a window. Although the picture was not, Gabriel assumed, of the highest artistic value, and was cheap enough to reside at Greenglades, and though it could not be said to have a photographic reality, and though he suspected it of not being "good," he was drawn to look at it and could see the ripeness of the velvet, reckon the bursting crispness of the apples, and the feather had a certain quality that he had never before observed, just as the painted window offered something that he had failed to notice at all when looking through the real one: the texture, the tone, the way the light fell, the very glassness of the glass.”
― Monica Ali, In the Kitchen

“The world would be a different place if Adam was allergic to apples.”
― Marin Darmonkow

“She set butter and sugar to warm in a sauté pan, and then turned to core, peel, and slice the apples, the sluicing sound of the knife against the crisp flesh of the fruit giving her whirling mind finally something to clutch. She dropped the apples into the pan, shaking it gently by the handle to coat the apples until they were slightly caramelized. Then she added a splash of cider and let the buttery, sweet liquid reduce before seasoning with cinnamon and pouring the softened apples into a serving bowl. She leaned over the bowl as she customarily did when making cinnamon apples to breathe the earthy-sweet aroma.”
― Karen Weinreb, The Summer Kitchen

“Introverts are like the stars in star apples.
They don’t feel the need to reveal themselves, except someone rips them open.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, Song of a Nature Lover

“Believe it or not, apples (genus Malus) are related to roses.”
― Andy Hamilton

“The apple trees does not need the fruit that it produces. Yet, it gives the entirety of its life over to producing it for those who do. And I often wonder what would happen if we were more like a tree.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“... the exotic spices arriving daily from the East Indies and the Americas, the crates of sweet oranges and bitter lemons from Sicily, the apricots from Mesopotamia, the olive oil from Naples, the almonds from the Jordan valley... I have seen and smelled these delicacies at market. But does any English person know how to cook with such foods?
I think back to my time in France and Italy, of all the delicacies that passed across my tongue. And then to the gardens I've seen in Tonbridge with their raised beds of sorrel, lettuce, cucumbers, marrows, pumpkins. Already the banks are starred bright with blackberries and rose hips, with damsons and sour sloes, the bloom still upon them. Trees are weighted down with green apples and yellow mottled pears and crab apples flushed pink and gold. Soon there will be fresh cobnuts in their husks, and ripe walnuts, and field mushrooms, and giant puffballs.”
― Annabel Abbs, Miss Eliza's English Kitchen: A Novel of Victorian Cookery and Friendship

“I keep an eye out for Ann, but instead I catch sight of a hedgehog shuffling into the undergrowth---an unexpected glimpse for they are shy, nocturnal creatures. Something about his gait, his spines, makes me imagine a sweet dish in his image. A hedgehog pudding... How might I make the spikes? Slithers of blanched almonds... impaled in a stiff white icing? Browned in a hot oven to re-create his russet color? And beneath his armor of icing and almonds... a Madeira sponge? A stiff blancmange? As I ponder how to make the hedgehog's body, I notice an apple tree, its boughs stripped of fruit but for a single split pippin at its apex. An apple hedgehog! A thick puree of apples drained until almost dry... with a center of apricot jam flavored with lemons.”
― Annabel Abbs, Miss Eliza's English Kitchen: A Novel of Victorian Cookery and Friendship

“I had also planned to stop at Herbert's Orchard and pick a basket of apples."
He could do apples. There was a small family store on-site that featured homemade fudge, pies, jams, jellies, and maple syrup, plus Maine-made crafts and gifts.
"Do you have a favorite apple?" he asked.
"Two favorites, actually. The Honeycrisp for sweetness and crunch, and the Ginger Gold, sliced with sharp cheddar cheese on salads. How about you?"
"Macintosh, all-around good. The best for pies, in my mom's opinion.”
― Kate Angell, The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice

“With my heightened sensitivity to smell, there were too many aromas to take in at one time. Pine. Apple. Cedar. Smoke from the fireplaces. An onslaught of sensorial experiences. All the odors blended together into one and, although wonderful and fresh, it was dizzying and my nose twitched from overload. My eyes focused on the orchard, the trees still laden with apples. Je vais tomber dans les pommes, I thought, thinking of the French expression "I'm going to fall in the apples," which meant to faint.”
― Samantha Verant, The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux

“Red and white wine/Manischewitz cocktails
Apple cider challah/homemade date honey
Potato and apple tart with horseradish cream
Old-Fashioned braised brisket with tomatoes and paprika
Tzimmes duo: Honeyed parsnips with currants and saffron,
sweet potatoes with dried pears and prunes
Stuffed cabbage
Mini Jewish apple cakes with honeycomb ice cream

"What's the difference between 'Jewish apple cake' and regular apple cake?" Rachel asks.
I shrug. "Not sure. Maybe the fact that it's made with oil instead of butter? I think it's a regional thing.”
― Dana Bate, The Girls' Guide to Love and Supper Clubs

“How to Taste An Apple: I find it mildly irksome to see someone eating an apple while walking down the street, unaware that a body sense event is happening, and perhaps focusing on something else entirely at the time. Ideally, one should select a fruit of known ripeness and take it with a plate and knife to a quiet place. Slice it to mouth-size portions, either all at once or as you eat, and when the slice is in the mouth, concentrate on the mouthfeel and the flavor. It may immediately enliven the taste buds or slowly unfold its complexity. Analyze the sugar, tannin, acid, and aroma of what you taste and if it is elusive do not despair: the magic of the taste of a particular variety may be its elusiveness. If given full attention, the act of eating an apple can become a mind-expanding experience.”
― Tom Burford, Apples of North America: A Celebration of Exceptional Varieties

“~ FRENCH APPLE CAKE WITH ALMONDS ~

I like a mix of apples, some firm and tangy, others soft and sweeter for a bit of variety. Whatever you do, do not spice the cake! Cinnamon and nutmeg do not belong in a French cake.
Serve with crème fraîche to be French, but freshly whipped cream or homemade ice cream won't taste bad either.”
― Hillary Manton Lodge, A Table by the Window

“I opened the bag, and the scent of apples, sweet and ripe, wafted up. They were brown and shriveled and resting in a Pyrex bowl. The sight was incongruent with the wonderful fragrant smell.
"I have a fantastic tree, cooking apples really---too tart to eat. But I freeze a lot. Jane mentioned last week that she loved applesauce, so I defrosted my last batch for her. They make the best applesauce I've ever had."
"Thanks."
"Do you know how to make applesauce?"
"I can figure it out."
"It's super easy; just add sugar and stew them over a low heat."
And cinnamon? You should also add nutmeg or a little chili, but not too much.”
― Katherine Reay, Lizzy and Jane

“I walked the Greenmarket stalls during my break. The leaves were riotous but I couldn't focus on them. I only saw apples. Stacked, primed for tumbling. Empires, Braeburns, Pink Ladies, Macouns. Women in tights, men in scarves. Vats of cider, steaming. I bought an apple and ate it.
Did I understand the fragrance and heft? The too-sweetness of the pulpy flesh? Had I ever felt the fatality of autumn like my bones did now, while I watched the pensive currents of foot traffic? A muted hopelessness pressed on me. I lay under it. At that point I couldn't remember the orchards, the blossoms, the life of the apple outside of the city. I only knew that it was a humble fruit, made for unremarkable moments. It's just food, I thought as I finished it, core and all. And yet it carries us into winter. It holds us steady.”
― Stephanie Danler, Sweetbitter

“He reaches into the crate and pulls out an apple with rough gold-and-brown skin. "A few different kinds of apples here. This one is a Goldrush. Kind of like a Golden Delicious but with a bit more acid. It keeps pretty well."
I pick up another from the heap. "And this one?"
Drew reaches out and delicately takes the apple from my hand. "This is a Smokehouse, an antique Pennsylvania Dutch variety. You can pretty much use it for anything---pies, cooking, sauces. It tastes like fresh cider. Really good. So are the Mutsus and Pink Ladies.”
― Dana Bate, A Second Bite at the Apple

“I pulled over my half of the latke appetizer. It seemed pretty simple, a lacy-edged potato pancake fried until plush in the middle and golden-brown around the crispy edges. Like nachos, the toppings were what really made it. The chef had played off the traditional latke toppings of applesauce and sour cream (#teamapplesauceforever), pairing her potato latkes with a spicy apple chutney, with chunks of both meltingly sweet cooked apples and crunchy tart raw apples, and a thick cucumber raita that reminded me of sour cream.”
― Amanda Elliot, Best Served Hot