Eggplant Quotes

I doubt that the imagination can be suppressed. If you truly eradicated it in a child, he would grow up to be an eggplant.

Gleaming skin; a plump elongated shape: the eggplant is a vegetable you'd want to caress with your eyes and fingers, even if you didn't know its luscious flavor.

When I was alone, I lived on eggplant, the stove top cook's strongest ally.

When you cut that eggplant up and you roast it in the oven and you make the tomato sauce and you put it on top, your soul is in that food, and there's something about that that can never be made by a company that has three million employees.

Very well, I will marry you if you promise not to make me eat eggplant.

The smell of manure, of sun on foliage, of evaporating water, rose to my head; two steps farther, and I could look down into the vegetable garden enclosed within its tall pale of reeds - rich chocolate earth studded emerald green, frothed with the white of cauliflowers, jeweled with the purple globes of eggplant and the scarlet wealth of tomatoes.

Chicks dig a dude who’s sporting the latest eggplant turtleneck styles.

I am open to the accusation that I see compost as an end it itself. But we do grow some real red damn tomatoes such as you can't get in the stores. And potatoes, beans, lettuce, collards, onions, squash, cauliflower, eggplant, carrots, peppers. Dirt in you own backyard, producing things you eat. Makes you wonder.

I like hot dogs. I like eggplant. I like pizza and creamed corn and beer. But I don't like Arabs.

In the water bucket a melon and an eggplant nodding to each other

When I was alone, I lived on eggplant, the stove top cook's strongest ally. I fried it and stewed it, and ate it crisp and sludgy, hot and cold. It was cheap and filling and was delicious in all manner of strange combinations. If any was left over, I ate it cold the next day on bread.

How can people say they don't eat eggplant when God loves the color and the French love the name? I don't under'stand.

The dark prince sat astride his black steed, his sable cape flowing behind him. A golden circlet bound his blond locks, his handsome face was cold with the rage of battle, and... "And his arm looked like an eggplant," Clary muttered to herself in exasperation.

To this day I cannot see a bright daffodil, a proud gladiola, or a smooth eggplant without thinking of Papa. Like his plants and trees, I grew up as a part of his garden.

I'm a vegetarian who doesn't like eggplant parmesan. Isn't that awful? I'm also sick of portobello mushrooms. People are like,"A vegetarian's coming to dinner," so they serve those.