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

“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

“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

“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

“I still have one question,' she said.

If the story curse had been capable of breathing, it might have held its breath just then.

It watched as the not-quite-human-boy raised an offended brow. 'You only have one?'

'No- I actually have far more.' She worried her lips between her white teeth.

Something shifted in the not-quite-human's eyes; he looked as if he wanted to take her lip between his teeth as well. 'You can ask me whatever you want, Little Fox.'

'Splendid!' Her mouth turned up into a sweet smile. 'Tell me about the apples.'

'Next question.'

'You said I could ask whatever I wanted.'

The not-quite-human-boy's eyes turned teasing, sparking with little flecks of silver. 'I didn't say that I would answer.

The girl's mouth fell into a pout.

The not-quite-human reached out with one finger and traced her lower lip. 'It doesn't matter,' he said softly. 'I don't need them anymore.”
― Stephanie Garber, A Curse for True Love

“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

“~ 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 may be blemished
but I am not rotten
to the core.”
― Dana VanderLugt, Enemies in the Orchard

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

“... 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

“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

“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

“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

“The Smokehouse variety were beginning to ripen in their rows at the far end of the orchard, where the hill sloped more sharply. She pulled one down from the tree; it resisted and the stem snapped off. She pulled another, holding both of the small fruits in one hand. Tinged rose red and washed in gold, and just as bright in flavor, they were among her favorites.”
― Rowenna Miller, The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill

“Their cider ain't no good either... Them apples got the sooty blotch.”
― Peter Hackshaw, The Shadow Sect

“I had a great aunt, Leona, who would sit and eat raw onions with me like apples as a kid. She would pour salt on the table cloth, dip it in and take a bite. What a genius.”
― Aesop Rock

“I didn't know you were afraid of apples.'

'I'm not afraid of apples. That's ridiculous.'

But she was lying. He could see the pulse jump in her neck.

He'd frightened her, which was good. She should be scared of him.”
― Stephanie Garber, A Curse for True Love

“This Orchard Is My Universe by Stewart Stafford

This orchard is my universe,
The apples, planets aligned,
Pips form a fertile starfield,
Juice waves crash behind.

Leaves fall as dying comets,
Avian asteroids zigzag wild,
Squirrels as planetary dust,
Moles, lunar cratering, mild.

Solar storm bows and enters,
Green-fingered power dearth,
Houston's black hole problem,
This astronaut sucked to Earth.

© Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“He looked and smelt like Autumn's very brother, his face being sunburnt to wheat-colour, his eyes blue as corn-flowers, his sleeves and leggings dyed with fruit-stains, his hands clammy with the sweet juice of apples, his hat sprinkled with pips, and everywhere about him that atmosphere of cider which at its first return each season has such an indescribable fascination for those who have been born and bred among the orchards.”
― Thomas Hardy, The Woodlanders