Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Overripe. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Overripe Quotes And Sayings by 97 Authors including Yvonne Miller,Curly Howard,Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni,Gertrude Stein,Abby Klein for you to enjoy and share.
Death by creaming
Are you casting asparagus on my cooking?
Fenugreek, Tuesday's spice, when the air is green like mosses after rain.
Asparagus in a lean in a lean is to hot. This makes it art and it is wet weather wet weather wet
in mushy, wet oatmeal. "Are
Look you dead in the face
Now tell me how good does it taste
I'll order anything that has the word 'fig' or 'crusted' in the menu description.
I am too much in the sun.
The thick plottens.
No vegetable exists which is not better slightly undercooked.
Sometimes from this hillside just after sunset
The rim of the sky takes on a tinge
Of the palest green, like the flesh of a cucumber
When you peel it carefully.
Dessert without cheese is like a beauty with only one eye
As frost, raised to its utmost intensity, produces the sensation of fire, so any good quality, overwrought and pushed to excess, turns into its own contrary.
Apple"
Sometimes when eating an apple
I bite too far
and open the little room
the lovers have prepared,
and the seeds fall out
onto the kitchen floor
and I see
that they are tear-shaped.
It's just that the grape has me down.
vanilla with a twist.
Laminated Lettuce ... perfect for holiday gift giving.
You mellow too much you ripen and rot.
It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.
With all the sweetness of a chocolate-coated razor-blade.
A strangely prolonged lunch involving lobster, that infernally overrated food ...
Salting the most nuanced of enterprises, the food always requesting more, but the tipping point fatal.
When the watermelons were as large as a child's head, the women boiled them, but they collapsed into a tasteless green mush that no one could eat, not the children, not the cow.
Leaves covered pavement like soggy cereal.
A pear should come to the table popped with juice,
Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms
Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.
Why is a carrot more orange than an orange?
Lettuce is like conversation; it must be fresh and crisp, so sparkling that you scarcely notice the bitter in it.
Sweet cream on an ice cream sandwich!
Death is a poison parsley on a dessert wine.
Now she's lit by the warm orange spreading from the horizon as not-quite-day, becomes not-quite-night
In an attempt at extroversion, she had worn a tunic with large slices of watermelon depicted on the front. What had she been thinking of?
You are offered a piece of bread and butter that feels like a damp handkerchief and sometimes, when cucumber is added to it, like a wet one.
It's OAT-freaking-MEAL!
What was that you gave me to eat?" Winter panicked.
A Filler Crisp," Clover said, his eyes seventy percent concerned and thirty percent mischievous.
Coconut teased him with tropical deliciousness; then the vanilla he so often smelled on Lou's neck wafted up. He ached to hold her, smell that spot right behind her ear. The cake, frosted and covered with toasted coconut, beckoned, wanting to be cut and eaten immediately.
I'd kill for 'somewhat frosty.'
daren't open my sandwich
Glorious wrappings sheath the gift of one day more.
Breathless I unwrap the package.
Never lived this day before.
Sweetly and subtly perfumed ... so soft it is best eaten with a spoon, a tenderness more appealing to gourmets than to those who have to pick, ship, handle and store it in constant fear of ruinous spoilage.
Sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Which had a top layer of truth to it, but latticed, like the caramel on the cronuts.
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
My arms look
as if blood is ...
And on my feet ...
It is dropping on my feet.
I now take the fruit and just
put it all over my body.
Chipper intuited that this feeling of futility would be a fixture in his life. A dull waiting and then a broken promise, a panicked realization of how late it was.
This futility had let's call it a flavor.
rashers of bacon.
The human fruit is always ripe for peeling.
This last one is greener, it must be sweeter.
Thank you, horseradish, for being neither a radish nor a horse. What you are is a liar food.
What is sweeter than lettered ease?
I visit the orchards of God and look at the spheric product
And look at quintillions ripened, and look at quintillions green.
When you've tasted excess, everything else tastes bland ...
As I move along the line, other food items are plunked onto my tray: a small salad of iceberg lettuce and bacos, a slice of white bread with a pat of Hotel Holiday butter and blob of red Jell-O with fruit cocktail trapped inside. Instantly, I feel compassion for the trapped fruit.
Butter was plastered on to the roll with no regard for the hard labor of the cow
If shoppers looked at crooked carrots, misshapen potatoes, slightly dinged apples or too-small peaches and thought, wow, that looks delicious, imagine the benefits for struggling farmers.
I'm hungry enough that I started to salivate at the sight of lettuce. I repeat: lettuce.
Caught between the tongue and the taste.
From vine to finish. A single grape the start of it, this unlabeled bottle right here in my hand the end of it, the eight hundred grapes inside.
Has the sheep eaten the flower or not?
Yielding, like ice about to melt.
Dry leaves upon the wall, Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, A single frosted cluster on the grape Still hangs
and that is all.
For so long I had eaten my greens and here - at last! - was my ice-cream sundae.
Is it nice, my preciousss? Is it juicy? Is it scrumptiously crunchable?
Such a large sweet fruit is a complete marriage, that it needs a very long summer to ripen in and then a long winter to mellow and season it.
Al the povere peple tho pescoddes fetten; Benes and baken apples thei broghte in hir lappe, Chibolles and chervelles and ripe chiries manye, And profrede Piers this present to plese with Hunger.
The Produce Gem grins from half-way down the chip aisle. "And I thought the cucumber choosing was detailed."
Cash.
He was watching.
He saw me breaking it down.
He saw my invisible bad summer-time fashion choices.
Nay, but prithee, with sprinkles 'pon it instead," I said solemnly, "and frosting of white.
The tantalizing scent transported me to a white, sandy beach lapped by a turquoise sea under a tropical sun. Lime and coconut were the getaway flavors my bakery customers needed in April, tax time.
Maddie took the top of her egg off. The hot bright yolk was like summer sun breaking through cloud. The first daffodil in the snow. A gold sovereign wrapped in a white silk handkerchief. She dipped her spoon in it and licked it.
I had begun to think my ripening body would wither untasted on the vine.
Piragua - cold syrup trickled over crushed ice - her favorite treat from her childhood in Viejo San Juan.
Full bloom, the pastures turning an impossible emerald green, she
The comfort of browning butter and the excitement of lemon zest.
You stackin cheddar cause you working at the burger place.
There is nothing hard inside the olive; nothing hard outside the nut.
Some people ripen, some rot.
Oh my God, cheese burn!
The evening sky was awash with peach, apricot, cream: tender little ice-cream clouds in a wide orange sky.
I am a grateful ... grapefruit.
With the rain falling
surgically against the roof,
I ate a dish of ice cream
that looked like Kafka's hat.
It was a dish of ice cream
tasting like an operating table
with the patient staring
up at the ceiling.
Dear Mr. Gibbon. Sorry I was absent. Here is some salted food. Please grade it the way you would a jenti piece of beef jerky.
home and there it sits on the counter, going sour.
It's clear, it's fresh, like a mint candy.
How's that for the grapes?
Are the grapes bitter or sweet? You have to taste.
Red Delicious apples, whose misleading name is a travesty.
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.
Nothing pleases which is not freshened by variety.
"Sarge, mr. Nurd here is threatening to turn me to jelly."
"really?" said Sarge. "what flavor?
The blossom is blighted, the leaf is withered, the God of day goes down upon the dreary scene, and in short you are for ever floored.
Burned over water.
There's a new dividing line in olives: between those who prefer Nocellara to all other varieties, and the people who have never tasted them.
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold
It's salt. Why don't you sprinkle some on me, honey? Aren't I just good enough to eat?
smeared a balm over the end of it.
There is a green in the air,
Soft, delectable.
It cushions me lovingly.
It was so dark, it was almost black and it melted on her tongue into an ancient flavor of seed pod, earth, shade, and sunlight, its bitterness casting just a shadow of sweet. It tasted ... fine, so subtle and strange it made her feel like a novitiate into some arcanum of spice.
You get too much at last of everything: of sunsets, of cabbages, of love.
I'm having a cheeseburger," Anna said. "With fries smothered in vinegar and salt."
"I told you I wouldn't kiss you again. You don't have to poison your mouth."
"Very funny. What are you having?"
"Something with onions and garlic.
Raspberry Sorbet with Capers
put flowers in the mud, baby.
Overground.