Where the apple reddens never pry -- lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I.
Adam was but human—this explains it all. He did not want the apple for the apple's sake, he wanted it only because it was forbidden. The mistake was in not forbidding the serpent; then he would have eaten the serpent.
Pessimism is as American as apple pie. Frozen apple pie with a slice of processed cheese.
Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings.
Millions saw the apple fall, but Newton was the one who asked why.
When the apple is ripe it will fall.
If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe.
Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.
Of emotions, of love, of breakup, of love and hate and death and dying, mama, apple pie, and the whole thing. It covers a lot of territory, country music does.
The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall.