Peaches Quotes

“One day I would have all the books in the world, shelves and shelves of them. I would live my life in a tower of books. I would read all day long and eat peaches. And if any young knights in armor dared to come calling on their white chargers and plead with me to let down my hair, I would pelt them with peach pits until they went home.”
― Jacqueline Kelly, The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

“Ol' man Simon, planted a diamond. Grew hisself a garden the likes of none. Sprouts all growin' comin' up glowin' Fruit of jewels all shinin' in the sun. Colors of the rainbow. See the sun and the rain grow sapphires and rubies on ivory vines, Grapes of jade, just ripenin' in the shade, just ready for the squeezin' into green jade wine. Pure gold corn there, Blowin' in the warm air. Ol' crow nibblin' on the amnythyst seeds. In between the diamonds, Ol' man Simon crawls about pullin' out platinum weeds. Pink pearl berries, all you can carry, put 'em in a bushel and haul 'em into town. Up in the tree there's opal nuts and gold pears- Hurry quick, grab a stick and shake some down. Take a silver tater, emerald tomater, fresh plump coral melons. Hangin' in reach. Ol' man Simon, diggin' in his diamonds, stops and rests and dreams about one... real... peach.”
― Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends

“Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring, and because it has fresh peaches in it.”
― Alice Walker, Home Girls: A Black Feminist Anthology

“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

“All you have to do is ask, Peaches.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, The Darkest Star

“How about peaches, dear?” murmurs Madame Manec, and Marie-Laure can hear a can opening, juice slopping into a bowl. Seconds later, she’s eating wedges of wet sunlight.”
― Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

“It was one of those exuberant peaches that meet you halfway, so to speak, and are all over you in a moment.”
― saki, The Chronicles of Clovis

“From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar of the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing,
from blossoms to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.”
― Li-Young Lee, Rose

“As I walked over to her I was engulfed in the thickest headiest smell I had ever experienced, it was sun and it was warmth and it was clean sweetness all distilled together. Nothing on the highlands smelled like that. And the apple, wasn't an apple at all, it's skin wasn't shiney but matte and furry and it was yellow and pink, almost red...I bit into the fruit, it still held the heat of the long day sun and was much softer than an apple...this tasted big and generous and sweeter than anything I'd ever tried...it had a shape that filled your mouth a rounded and warm sweetness that immediately made the saliva run and mix with the juices in anticipation of the next bite. It tasted just like the smell around us but more so. It was like tasting a smile.”
― C.A. Fletcher, A Boy and His Dog at the End of the World

“Hang on, little tomato", he said. "We're almost there”
― James S.A. Corey, Nemesis Games

“We took the peaches to bed. It is always nice to have someone else to lick the peach juice off your breast.”
― Kerry Greenwood, Forbidden Fruit

“He’s been spoiled by the availability of produce in Los Angeles, spoiled by all the choices and the never-ending stream of ripe fruits and vegetables in or out of season. There remains, though, nothing quite like a peach, plucked from the tree at the peak of ripeness, still warm from the sun in the orchard.”
― Catherine Fletcher, Peach Season

“She pulled out a few tortilla chips from a nearby shelf, dipping one deeply and popping it in her mouth, then holding out the jar so Daniel could do the same. She was hit with the summery peach and brown sugar that sweetened the tomatoes, and then the heat built, numbing her tongue from the back to the front. She swallowed, eyes watering, and looked at Daniel, who already had his mouth open trying to cool it off. Most Wisconsinites couldn't hold their heat, so she wouldn't be able to use it straight, but there were some nice flavors in there.
"Here." She handed him a yogurt smoothie she kept in the fridge for days when she didn't have time to make a sandwich for herself.
"Sorry, G. I thought it would be delicious." He had an easy manner, bordering on shy, but with a strong thoughtful streak. Gina appreciated his amiable company.
"Ye of little faith. It has great flavor. It would be a shame to waste it. Have a seat and give me a few minutes."
Daniel settled on the overturned five-gallon bucket she used as a chair when it was slow.
"Tell me about what you were doing in Texas," she said.
"My sister and her family live near Austin. I try to get down and visit her once a winter. It's a nice break from the cold."
While he spoke she worked, mixing the salsa into cream cheese to cut the heat. She had some cornbread that she had made herself so it was the right texture to cut into slices- it would be the perfect accompaniment. She warmed up a little slow-cooked pork, tossing it with the peach salsa cream cheese mix, and put it between the cornbread slices with some shredded Monterey Jack, grilling it with butter to give the bread a crisp crunch.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go

“And on that table was the most impressive assortment of food: salmon mousse in the shape of a salmon; cold chickens; quail; a huge platter of oysters, shrimp and lobster claws; all kinds of salads; fruits and cheese. It was all so beautifully arranged that I hardly dared to touch it. At one end was a huge bowl of peaches.”
― Rhys Bowen, Above the Bay of Angels

“This close, she could feel the woman’s sleepy heat, and the sweet scent of peaches wafted off her. Sky’s mouth watered—the response instinctual.”
― Katherine McIntyre, Confined Desires

“Last summer they came to visit us in West Virginia, and Julie and I spent a week perfecting the peach pie. We made ordinary peach pie, and deep-dish peach pie, and blueberry and peach pie, but here is the best peach pie we made: Put 1 1/4 cups flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/2 cup butter and 2 tablespoons sour cream into a Cuisinart and blend until they form a ball. Pat out into a buttered pie tin, and bake 10 minutes at 425*. Beat 3 egg yolks slightly and combine with 1 cup sugar, 2 tablespoons flour and 1/3 cup sour cream. Pour over 3 peeled, sliced peaches arranged in the crust. Cover with foil. Reduce the oven to 350* and bake 35 minutes. Remove the foil and bake 10 minutes more, or until the filling is set.
I keep thinking about that week in West Virginia. It was a perfect week. We swam in the river and barbecued ribs and made Bellinis with crushed peaches and cheap champagne.”
― Nora Ephron, Heartburn

“When I heard or said the word "Kelly," I tasted canned peaches, delicious and candy-sweet. This, however, was the first time I had ever heard anyone say "Powell." The word was a raw onion, a playground bully with sharp elbows shoving all flavors aside. Luckily for our friendship, little girls didn't often call each other by their full names.”
― Monique Truong, Bitter in the Mouth

“Bonnie did a nice job with the danish topping this morning: thinly sliced peaches are fanned like angels' wings atop the dollop of cream cheese frosting.”
― Jennifer Gold, The Ingredients of Us

“ Since peaches are already so sweet, sprinkle only very lightly with white sugar. For the perfect complement, use freshly grated ginger. If it's not freshly grated, don't bother. ”
― Jennifer Gold, The Ingredients of Us

“It's a matter of browning the edges and bottom now, since the peaches are primed. The spice of ginger pierces the air, and Elle, mouth watering, tries the caramelized peach juice left over on the cookie sheet. It's sweet, with a gingery kick.”
― Jennifer Gold, The Ingredients of Us

“Bonnie comes over with a metal sugar duster and taps it over the top of the cake, the little blueberry globes and peach crescents turning frosty white with powdered sugar.”
― Jennifer Gold, The Ingredients of Us

“The good boy hugs a bag of peaches
his father has entrusted
to him.
Now he follows
his father, who carries a bagful in each arm.
See the look on the boy's face
as his father moves
faster and farther ahead, while his own steps
flag, and his arms grow weak, as he labors
under the weight
of peaches.”
― Li-Young Lee, Rose

“Every night she was shocked by the many uses of peaches. The women knew how to make anything out of them---peach-and-pecan soup, peach salsa, peach-and-onion fritters, peach-and-amaretto jelly. They combined them with the produce of their vegetable garden, which lay behind the men’s dorm. When the men cooked, it was less creative---burgers, sometimes steak. But there was always corn on the cob, cucumber-and-parsley salad with cider vinegar, beans, mild white cheese crumbled on tortillas and cooked over the open fire.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Peaches

“The peaches, abundantly nestled in their leaves, were fully grown, but they had a greenish tinge to them, with just a pale blush covering each one in soft pink. Bobwhites and finches were flitting in and out of some of the branches and through the rows. There was a rapping somewhere far away, probably a woodpecker. And lots of buzzing.
"Not ripe yet," Murphy said.
"Second week of June," Leeda replied. They knew it all by heart---which varieties ripened when, even which trees ripened faster than others because of where they sat; on a hill, in a dip, in fuller sun, closer to water. Murphy had forgotten what so much green looked like and how alive everything felt. Life even had a smell. Flowers and grass and the smell of wood.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Love and Peaches

“Leeda moved down the row slowly, picking expertly, doing a touch test on the fruits whose ripeness she doubted. If she picked them too soon, they wouldn't taste sweet enough because they wouldn't have time to draw in enough sugar. If she picked them too late, she knew, they would have already started producing ethylene, a chemical that ripened them, and they'd be overripe by the time they were sold. Their first summer on the orchard, Birdie had revealed to them that the world of peaches was more intricate and varied than they ever imagined. Clingstones, the ones that clung to their pits, ripened earliest, then semi-frees, and then freestones. Each variety was like a different dog breed with vastly different characteristics---the texture of the meat, the fuzziness of the skin, the strength and sweetness of the flavor.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Love and Peaches

“We've done the grilled tomato and peach pizza at Le Papillon Sauvage. We've served the beet and peach soup. And the peach and cucumber salsa over the chicken. The tarts. The cobblers. The homemade ice cream. I don't know. I'm tapped out for ideas."
Phillipa rolled a peach on a cutting board, massaging it. "Pork," she said. "Peaches and pork would taste amazing together. Or pan-seared foie gras? What do you think?"
"If you can come up with something interesting, I'm all for it."
"Me?" she asked. "But you're the chef. And I want to be inspired by you."
"That makes two of us," I said.
"You're doing amazing things." Phillipa halved a peach, cut into it, and then handed over a slice. "Eat this, savor it. Find your inspiration!" she said, and as I bit into it, I tried, able to focus only on the texture.
As the juices from the slice ran across my tongue and down my throat, the sensation transported me to my childhood, to the teachings of my grand-mère in this kitchen, and her recipe for a peach crumble. The way she taught me to knead the flour, butter, and sugar into flaky crumbs, working her gentle hands with mine. I could almost feel her next to me, smell her cinnamon and nutmeg scent.”
― Samantha Verant, Sophie Valroux's Paris Stars

“Cinnamon, cloves, and..." Angela tilted her head to one side. "Ginger?"
Darn it. "You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?"
Using her fork, Angela pointed to the cake. "Fresh peaches too."
Ella sighed. "The Piggly Wiggly just got a shipment from Georgia. That's what made me decide to make that cake to begin with."
"It's delicious. This is the first upside-down cake I've had with pralines." Angela licked her fork, her expression softening. "John loved peaches, but I told him he didn't know good peaches until he'd had one right off the tree, made sweet by the heat. They should be soft, but not too much, and smell like..." Angela closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she could smell those fresh peaches. "One summer, I had Jules bring tree-ripened peaches with her when she came to drop off the boys in the Hamptons for their vacation. You should have seen John's face when he bit into that first one. You'd have thought he'd seen a glimpse of heaven.”
― Karen Hawkins, The Secret Recipe of Ella Dove

“WHITE PEACH AND BLUEBERRY SALAD WITH ROSE SYRUP
Salade de Pêches Blanches à la Rose

It's nearly impossible to improve on the white peaches in Provence, but I did find a bottle of locally made rose syrup in the boulangerie that piqued my interest. This makes a quick but surprisingly elegant dessert for guests.

4 perfectly ripe white peaches, cut into 1/2-inch slices
1 cup blueberries
1-2 teaspoons rose syrup

Combine all the ingredients.

Serves 4.


Tip: Rose syrup is available online and from some specialty supermarkets. A small bottle will keep forever in the fridge. You can use it to make champagne cocktails or raspberry smoothies, or to flavor a yogurt cake. You may find rosewater, which is unsweetened (and very concentrated), at a Middle Eastern grocery. Use it sparingly (a few drops plus 1 or 2 teaspoons of sugar for this recipe), otherwise your fruit salad will taste like soap.”
― Elizabeth Bard, Picnic in Provence: A Memoir with Recipes

“SAFFRON SUMMER COMPOTE
Compote de Pêches aux Safran

A few threads of saffron add depth--- maybe even a little fancy-pants--- to this summer compote. I make mine with a mix of white and yellow peaches and juicy nectarines, whatever I have on hand. Top your morning yogurt, layer in a parfait, or serve with a slice of pound cake and a dollop of crème fraîche. When I get my canning act together, this is what I'm going to make, jars and jars of golden days to last me through the chill of winter.

2 pounds of slightly overripe fruit (a mix of peaches, nectarines, and apricots)
1 tablespoon of raw sugar
2 good pinches of saffron

Cut the fruit into 1-inch cubes. I don't especially feel the need to peel. In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the fruit and sugar. Bring to a boil, stir in the saffron, and let simmer over low heat until thickened and slightly reduced; mine took about 40 minutes. Serve warm or cold.

Serves 6-8”
― Elizabeth Bard, Picnic in Provence: A Memoir with Recipes

“You're staring at my boobs." Her tone is wry but somehow not insulted.
"I am aware." I should be sorry, but I'm not. "I'm staring at your peachy butt, too, if we're being totally honest here."
"Macon."
I glance up at her. "Your body is fucking luscious, Delilah. Bitable in the best way possible. A juicy peach, a sweet apple covered in caramel. Do you know how much I'd kill for a caramel apple right now, Tot? And me stuck on this hell diet. It's a torment, I say."
"I don't think this is very professional," she says weakly.
"I should hope not." God, I love teasing her. Her whole body lights up when I do it. Foreplay. Does she realize that's what we're doing? "I was just thinking---"
"What did I say about you thinking?" she warns.
"They don't look like bananas now, Tot."
"Oh my God, you're terrible." But she's grinning now. Fighting damn hard not to show it, but definitely grinning.
"More like peaches. Ripe, juicy peaches."
She sways in my direction before catching herself doing it and shifting her weight. "You called my butt peachy." A dry complaint. "My boobs can't be peaches too."
Maybe I have a thing for peaches."
Somehow, we're only a foot apart, the space between us humming with something. It licks over my tender skin, tickles the back of my neck. Take it slow, Saint. She's skittish. Back off. My body resents this greatly and strains toward her warmth.
Her voice is a thread, drawn tight. "You're still staring."
"Paying proper respect," I amend quietly. "You don't ignore a body like yours. It would be rude."
"Pretty sure you have that backward." She's breathless now, her glorious breasts rising and falling with agitation.
I lean down, take in the warmth of her scent. "Come on, Tot. I've grown up, seen the error of my ways. Give me your bountiful banana pie."
Again she sways into my space, laughing softly. "Pervert. You're not getting any pie from me."
I hum, heat and need making my head swim. "But I have this craving."
She's whispering now. "Disappointment can be character building."
"I'll need my strength for that. How about peach pie?" Kiss me, Delilah. Or let me kiss you. I'm not picky.
The pulse at the base of her tanned neck visibly beats. The scent of her skin is like honey.
"I thought you wanted banana cream," she says, a dazed look in her eyes.
The tips of my fingers touch the collar of her shirt. "I don't think pie is what I want anymore.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy