Apricots Quotes

“When you paint Spring, do not paint willows, plums, peaches, or apricots, but just paint Spring. To paint willows, plums, peaches, or apricots is to paint willows, plums, peaches, or apricots - it is not yet painting Spring.”
― Eihei Dogen

“Each time Vesuvius erupted, it covered its slopes with a deep layer of a remarkable natural fertilizer called potash, and as a result the mountain supported dozens of species of fruit and vegetables which grew nowhere else in all Italy, a culinary advantage which more than compensated for the area's occasional dangers. In the case of apricots, the varieties included the firm-fleshed Cafona, the juicy Palummella, the bittersweet Boccuccia liscia, the peachlike Pellecchiella and the spiky-skinned but incomparably succulent Spinosa.”
― Anthony Capella, The Wedding Officer

“She removes the pint of apricots, plump and exquisite as roses, and offers him one. He takes a bite and puts his hand over hers as she takes a bite, the velvety peel and fruit sugar filling her whole mouth. The air between them is complicated, infused with the scents from the bags: toasted sesame, sweet orange blossom water, and fragrant rosewater.”
― Diana Abu-Jaber, Crescent

“A small frosted glass of umeshu (plum wine) sat on a white paper coaster toward the top. The syrupy wine, actually made from small Japanese apricots, had a honeyed smoothness and a fruity finish that left behind a streak of warmth.”
― Victoria Abbott Riccardi, Untangling My Chopsticks: A Culinary Sojourn in Kyoto

“Just as the first sun-kissed apricots arrive at the market, lavender fields all over Provence are bursting into bloom. They are a perfect pair.”
― Elizabeth Bard, Picnic in Provence: A Memoir with Recipes

“I arrive back at my lodgings to a battered-tin dish of dried apricots in syrup. Small and plump, round rather than oval, and freckled with rust. I dip a spoon into the syrup, a pretty spoon battered and bent from years of service, and sip the heavily chilled, sweet liquor. Lighter than that used to soak gulab jamun, the heavy, sticky balls of dough I have consumed with nothing short of gluttony on this trip, but thinner and less cloying and with the faintest breath of rosewater. I sit in peace on the cool veranda with my tin dish of apricots like dumpy cherubs and with the dry citrus dust of ground ginger still in my hair.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts

“What's your favorite?'
I must have looked confused. That's my trick; no one ever asks me which chocolate I prefer.
'Let me guess,' said the man in black, and, looking over the display, seemed to consider the chocolates, the candied fruits, the nougatines. Lingered for a moment over the green tea truffles; the salted pralines. Then he looked up, and his sea-blue eyes were filled with crazed reflections.
'You didn't like chocolate at first,' he said. 'You never used to eat it. But now, you're starting to understand. Its power to awaken the past; its dark and troubled history. The stories it tells about itself. It's many re-inventions. Ah. Here we are.' He paused at a tray of chocolate-dipped cherries, still with the stalks attached, and said. 'These, I think, Vianne Rocher. Dark chocolate, not always your favorite, but here, with cherries, it evokes something almost magical. Bite through the bitter chocolate shell to the brandied fruit inside. Hold the little stone on the tongue. Roll it gently around your mouth, like a long-kept secret.' He smiled, and I found myself liking him in spite of the coldness in my heart: the Man in Black has a kind of charm that I would never have suspected.
I said: 'You may be right, monsieur. Yours is---' A gilded thread in the air. A little bastide on the Garonne. Not Vianne, but somewhere close; light, like the bloom on an apricot, a sky like the edge of forever----
I said, in a slightly trembling voice: 'Apricot hearts. They're your favorite.”
― Joanne Harris, Vianne