Careful Words

fruit (n.)

fruit (v.)

Of no distemper, of no blast he died,

But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long,—

Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner.

Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years,

Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more;

Till like a clock worn out with eating time,

The wheels of weary life at last stood still.

John Dryden (1631-1701): oedipus. Act iv. Sc. 1.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree

I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.

I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 10.

Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch

At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb;

Keep clean, be as fruit, earn life, and watch

Till the white-wing'd reapers come!

Henry Vaughan (1621-1695): The Seed growing secretly.

  No great thing is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell me that you desire a fig, I answer you that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen.

Epictetus (Circa 60 a d): Discourses. Chap. xv.

  Gratitude is a fruit of great cultivation; you do not find it among gross people.

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784): Tour to the Hebrides. Sept. 20, 1773.

Words are like leaves; and where they most abound,

Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Essay on Criticism. Part ii. Line 109.

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought death into the world, and all our woe.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 1.

The ripest fruit first falls.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard II. Act ii. Sc. 1.

But the fruit that can fall without shaking

Indeed is too mellow for me.

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1690-1762): The Answer.

Of no distemper, of no blast he died,

But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long,—

Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner.

Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years,

Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more;

Till like a clock worn out with eating time,

The wheels of weary life at last stood still.

John Dryden (1631-1701): oedipus. Act iv. Sc. 1.

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop

Into thy mother's lap.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book xi. Line 535.

  All that is harmony for thee, O Universe, is in harmony with me as well. Nothing that comes at the right time for thee is too early or too late for me. Everything is fruit to me that thy seasons bring, O Nature. All things come of thee, have their being in thee, and return to thee.

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (121-180 a d): Meditations. iv. 23.

  The tree is known by his fruit.

New Testament: Matthew xii. 33.

I am a tainted wether of the flock,

Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit

Drops earliest to the ground.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Merchant of Venice. Act iv. Sc. 1.

  Let us not wonder if something happens which never was before, or if something doth not appear among us with which the ancients were acquainted.

Plutarch (46(?)-120(?) a d): Symposiacs. Book viii. Question ix.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree

I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.

I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 10.

  Rom.  Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,

That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—

  Jul.  O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb,

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Romeo and Juliet. Act ii. Sc. 2.

by simon sarris • about