Quotes About Olive

The richness and generosity of the human spirit I discovered in those journeys, meeting with olive farmers and people caught up in war was very humbling for me. Also, finding trees that were six or seven thousand years old made me realise what a tiny pea I am in the world.

A few minutes later, a very slim, very directed black-haired woman with olive skin and a classic profile swept into the room. Her hair was pulled back in a bun. She was the executive assistant version of the beautiful librarian cliché. Severe suit, abrupt manner, glasses perched on her nose and secured on a no-nonsense chain around her neck. But you knew when she took those specs off and let down her hair, the results would be dazzling.

El árbol de España, was a 16-minute documentary about Spanish olive growing. [...] The film formed part of a major promotional campaign by the National Union of Olive-Growers to raise awareness of Spanish olive products in the USA. The piece also states that the film is thought to have been seen by as many as eight million Americans, which raises the real possibility that El árbol de España is the most widely seen Jess Franco film of all time!

At Appassionata we produced relatively small amounts of our very own, premier-class, deliciously peppery olive oil. Olive farming wasn't my trade, but it had become a passion.

Like many people, when we thought about owning a house there, we pictured the traditional stone farmhouse surrounded by acres of land, olive groves, vineyards and maybe a pool. In

As the oil is in the olive, so is the teshuvah, repentance, hidden within sin.

A maiden's first kiss cometh hard, yea, it is as the first olive out of a bottle, requiring much skill; but the rest are easy.

I was inhaling my latest invention, "Greek" pizza—warm pita layered with black olive spread, creamy hummus, and tart tzatziki, topped with a heap of chopped and olive oil–drizzled tomatoes, feta, cucumbers, and avocado—when

Lipstick?" He arched a brow. "I'm on the hunt for my perfect shade," I respond, deadpan. "Ditch the magenta. Your olive skin screams for rose." His deadpan is better than mine.

He called for it to be planted with olive trees, cypress, viburnum, and magnolia, all plants that might have been found in a classic Roman garden, which he felt would continue the experience of intellectual immersion.

Here Stands A Man. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but he could have sworn the sweet bay was pleased to agree. Its olive-green leaves went wild in the glow of a fat cherry-red sun.

cream-cheese-and-olive-on-rye-bread mini-sandwich.

there came from the olive groves outside the fuchsia hedge the incessant shimmering cries of the cicadas. If the curious, blurring heat haze produced a sound, it would be exactly the strange, chiming cries of these insects.

sleepily through the olive groves, silvered by a moon as large and as white as a magnolia blossom.

In a few days small white clouds started their winter parade, trooping across the sky, soft and chubby, long, languorous, and unkempt, or small and crisp as feathers, and driving them before it, like an ill-assorted flock of sheep, would come the wind. This was warm at first, and came in gentle gusts, rubbing through the olive groves so that the leaves trembled and turned silver with excitement, rocking the cypresses so that they undulated gently, and stirring the dead

and the olive trunks steamed as the rain was dried off them by the sun

Even in the shade of the olive groves it was not cool

we reached the bay which was rimmed with silvery olive groves and great golden tangles of broom that sent its heavy musky scent out over the still clear waters.

Marko looked as if he could use a makeover himself. A big-boned six foot three, he was much stockier than most Serbians, with an olive complexion and the out-of-proportion head of a Peanuts character. He wore an overcoat that was one size too big, a thick gray Brooks Brothers sweater with flecks of white, and a cream-colored turtleneck that actually made him look like a turtle. Marko

Before there is wine or there is oil, the grape must be trodden and the olive must be pressed.

Sloppy casual has always been my default look. My preppier classmates in high school would sometimes sport two, three, even four shirts at a time - Lauren, Izod, Brooks Brothers, all collars-up - while I wore secondhand faded olive German-army fatigues and this cool T-shirt with a troll on it.

Further along, one of Picasso's doves of peace with an Armalite, not an olive branch, in its mouth.

I dropped an olive into the martini like making a green wish.

worker sprayed an olive German M poster with a retrofitted insecticide atomizer while his partner sponged at a stained spot gently with Orvus soap, a pure, fragrance-free surfactant used for livestock and posters.