Quince Quotes

• They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon.

  Edward Lear

  Dance, Food, Moon

  "The Owl and the Pussy-Cat" l. 21 (1871)

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• The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. . . They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.

  Edward Lear

  Beautiful, Moon, Light

  "The Owl and the Pussy-Cat" l. 21 (1871)

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• They danced by the light of the moon.

  Edward Lear

  Dance, Moon, Light

  "The Owl and the Pussy-Cat" l. 21 (1871)

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• It's funny, when you look back in history books or American cookery books, one of the reasons that the quinces and cranberries are used so often is because of their natural jelling properties.

  Alton Brown

  Book, Often Is, Looks

  "TV Chef Alton Brown Shares Tips On The Science Of Thanksgiving Dinner". "All Things Considered" with Ari Shapiro, November 24, 2016.

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• Brambles, in particular, protect and nourish young fruit trees, and on farms bramble clumps (blackberry or one of its related cultivars) can be used to exclude deer and cattle from newly set trees. As the trees (apple, quince, plum, citrus, fig) age, and the brambles are shaded out, hoofed animals come to eat fallen fruit, and the mature trees (7 plus years old) are sufficiently hardy to withstand browsing. Our forest ancestors may well have followed some such sequences for orchard evolution, assisted by indigenous birds and mammals.

  Bill Mollison

  Animal, Years, Apples

  "Permaculture: A Designers' Manual". Book by Bill Mollison, 1988.

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• Why love the woman who is your wife? Her nose breathes in the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience.

  Ray Bradbury

  Pain, Eye, Night

  Ray Bradbury (2017). “Something Wicked This Way Comes: A Novel”, p.180, Simon and Schuster

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• To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.

  William Shakespeare

  Simple, Skills, Ends

  'A Midsummer Night's Dream' (1595-6) act 5, sc. 1, l. [108]

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• The jelly - the jam and the marmalade, And the cherry-and quince-'preserves' she made! And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear, With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare! And the more we ate was the more to spare, Out to old Aunt Mary's! Ah!

  James Whitcomb Riley

  Sweet, Food, Aunt

  James Whitcomb Riley (1993). “The Complete Poetical Works of James Whitcomb Riley”, p.315, Indiana University Press

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• The fallen hazel-nuts, Stripped late of their green sheaths, The grapes, red-purple, Their berries Dripping with wine, Pomegranates already broken, And shrunken fig, And quinces untouched, I bring thee as offering.

  Hilda Doolittle

  Wine, Purple, Offering

  Hilda Doolittle, “Orchard”

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• QUINCE Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. FLUTE Here, Peter Quince. QUINCE Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLUTE What is Thisby? a wandering knight? QUINCE It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLUTE Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

  William Shakespeare

  Knights, Play, Beard

  'A Midsummer Night's Dream' (1595-6) act 1, sc. 2, l. [50]

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• Books should confuse. Literature abhors the typical. Literature flows to the particular, the mundane, the greasiness of paper, the taste of warm beer, the smell of onion or quince. Auden has a line: "Ports have names they call the sea." Just so will literature describe life familiarly, regionally, in terms life is accustomed to use -- high or low matters not. Literature cannot by this impulse betray the grandeur of its subject -- there is only one subject: What it feels like to be alive. Nothing is irrelevant. Nothing is typical.

  Richard Rodriguez

  Book, Beer, Names

  Richard Rodriguez (2003). “Brown: The Last Discovery of America”, p.17, Penguin

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