Apple Tree Quotes

“I think it's fair rude to make him a tree and not know what kind he is.”
― Tamora Pierce, Wolf-Speaker

“Unconditional Love is like an apple tree. The apple tree gives apples, not because anyone needs them or deserves them, but because that is what apple trees do.”
― Vivian Amis

“It was a garden, a walled garden. Overgrown but with beautiful bones visible still. Someone had cared for this garden once. The remains of two paths snaked back and forth, intertwined like the lacing on an Irish dancing shoe. Fruit trees had been espaliered around the sides, and wires zigzagged from the top of one wall to the top of another. Hungry, wisteria branches had woven themselves around to form a sort of canopy.
Against the southern wall, an ancient and knobbled tree was growing. Cassandra went closer. It was the apple tree, she realized, the one whose bough had reached over the wall. She lifted her hand to touch one of the golden fruit. The tree was about sixteen feet high and shaped like the Japanese bonsai plant Nell had given Cassandra for her twelfth birthday.”
― Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden

“This your handiwork?"
She hesitated. Hera liked to claim this garden was her idea.
"Come on. You can tell me- I won't say a word. Everyone I know is dead!" He chuckled to himself and she couldn't help smiling.
He was clever, just like some of the snakes that tried to worm their way into her gardens. She knew how to handle them. She could handle this snake, too.
"They're my work, yes." She inched closer again. He didn't scare her. If anything, she was intrigued. He was obviously enamored of her apples, and for that alone, she wanted to keep talking to him. "Each and every branch on this tree and the apples that hang from them are my creations, as is this whole meadow."
"Stellar work, truly." Hades took another bite. "Too bad you don't get credit for it. Hera is always going on about how she's the one who nurtures this garden."
Her eyes flashed. "I can assure you, this is my work, and mine alone."
"Feisty! And not afraid of Hera! Nice combination.”
― Jen Calonita, Go the Distance

“Cassandra lifted the apple to her lips. The sunny scent was strong as she bit into it. An apple, from a tree in her very own garden, a tree planted many years before that still produced fruit. Year in, year out. It was sweet. Were apples always so sweet?
She yawned. The sun had made her very drowsy. She would sit, just for a little while longer, until the gardener arrived. She took another bite of the apple. The room felt warmer than it had before. As if the range had suddenly begun to work, as if someone else had joined her in the cottage and was beginning to make lunch. Her lids were heavy and she closed her eyes. A bird somewhere sang, a lovely, lonely tune; breeze-blown leaves tapped against the windows, and in the distance the ocean breathed steadily, in and out, in and out, in and out...”
― Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden

“By the time she entered the hidden garden, early light was sifting through the autumn-sparse canopy. Eliza took a deep breath. She'd come to the garden because it was the place in which she always felt settled, and today more than ever she needed it to work its magic.
She ran her hand along the little iron seat, beaded with rain, and perched on its damp edge. The apple tree was fruiting, shiny globes of orange and pink. She could pick some for Cook, or perhaps she should tidy the borders, or trim the honeysuckle.”
― Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden

“Before the war an apple tree had stood behind the church. It was an apple tree that ate its own apples.”
― Herta Müller, The Passport

“We have a friend, and Anglophile American city-dweller in his eighties, whose main ambition, now, is to hear a cuckoo call, for he never has, and perhaps he never will, for he is rather deaf. But, if he came and sat under the magic apple tree for an afternoon in May, it would be quiet enough, and then he might listen to the cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo until he had his fill.”
― Susan Hill, The Magic Apple Tree: A Country Year

“We are people-trees. Our roots are hidden in Earth .The branches spread out on Heavens.
The fruits are our energy.
Two different energies: The positive and negative ones.

The balance of both carries the progress.
Article by Author Katerina Kostaki :The Tree of Gnosis in the Garden of Eden”
― Katerina Kostaki, Cosmic Light

“Cassandra continued her obstacle course along the wall, hoping to find a gate or a door, anything permitting entry. The sun was rising in the sky and the birds had relaxed their singing. The air was heavy with the sweet, swooning perfume of a climbing rose. Although it was autumn, Cassandra was becoming hot. To think she had once imagined England a cold country to which the sun was a stranger. She stopped to wipe sweat from her brow and bumped her head on something low-hanging.
The gnarled bough of a tree reached armlike over the wall. An apple tree, Cassandra realized, when she saw that the branch bore fruit- shiny, golden apples. They were so ripe, so deliciously fragrant, that she couldn't resist picking one.”
― Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden

“The garden is incredible. It's really overgrown, but underneath the brambles all kinds of plants have survived. There are paths, garden seats, bird feeders."
"Like Sleeping Beauty, fast asleep until the enchantment is broken."
"That's the thing, though; it hasn't been asleep. The trees kept growing, bearing fruit, even though there's been no one there to appreciate it. You should see the apple tree, it looks to be a hundred years old.”
― Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden

“I lingered at the edge of an open field of lanky meadow buttercups. The vibrant green-and-yellow field was deserted. Behind me arose a gnarled crab apple tree in full, glorious bloom, the petals of its flowers littering the shaded bench on which I'd been about to sit. A breeze set the branches rustling, a waterfall of white petals flittering down like snow.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Eventually, Sanna and Isaac joined everyone at the table, not even noticing that the stick she'd laid on the counter, still poking out of its plastic bag, had burst into full bloom sometime in the last ten minutes.
Only Einars noticed the white petals with the soft pink blush and delicate yellow center that popped open when it had no right to. He turned to look at the large, happy family circling the turkey, laughing and smiling, bigger than they'd been in twenty years.
Happiness had returned to Idun's.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“As soon as I moved into the house, I planted a Discovery apple tree at the foot of the garden, by the yew hedge. A gift to the Norse gods for eternal youth, but in truth a nod to the apple tree of my childhood, whose canopy shaded the patch of phlox growing underneath, whose long stems and flowers the colors of sugared almonds hid a treasure trove of fallen fruit.
Discovery is a scented apple, with bright, acid flesh that does not keep well. The small, slightly flattened fruit are best eaten straight from the tree. The flesh is white as frost, flashed lightly with strawberry pink. A child's apple.
It is aptly named. Brought up as I was in a world of Dairylea, Ritz Crackers and Wonderloaf, the flavor and scent of these pale fruits were my first hint that there was something more interesting out there to eat.
My tree, twenty years old now, awaits the lacework of soft-green lichen that covered the branches of my parents' and, infuriatingly, phlox has so far refused to grow beneath its boughs. It is the earliest apple, ripening in August. A fruit I think of not only as the herald of the apple season, with its Michaelmas Reds and Blenheim Oranges, its Cornish Honeypins and Ribston Pippins, but as the beginning of everything.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts

“The wildflowers she waded through were those she recognized from her youth. Chicory, Queen Anne's lace, and black-eyed Susans. An apple tree she and Phoebe had planted by the pond when they were both small had grown into a monster. Though it was only the middle of June, the branches were dripping with fruit. Rather than red or green, the apples were a purple so deep it almost looked black. Brigid plucked one off the tree and took a bite. The flesh underneath was a brilliant white.”
― Kirsten Miller, The Women of Wild Hill