They chose the olive" "They must really like olives" "Forget it" "Now if she invented pizza that i can understand" -Percy to Annabeth in the lightning theif
If entertainment ran grocery stores, we'd NEVER get oil cured olives or blue cheese, it would be JUST Coke.
Oh, gosh, Olive. I'm so embarrassed. " "No need to be," Olive tells her. "We all want to kill someone at some point. " (179)
Hey listen -- I've proved a lot of things. That's how I pay my rent. Theories and little observations. A puckish remark now and then. Occasional maxims. It beats picking olives, but let's not get carried away.
A small olive-skinned creature who had hit puberty but never hit it very hard, Ben had been my best friend since fifth grade, when we both finally owned up to the fact that neither of us was likely to attract anyone else as a best friend.
We're out of cocktail olives, it's a tragedy of historic proportions, but we're coping because we're Americans.
The most overrated ingredients are garlic and extra-virgin olive oil. With garlic, it's personal; I have never been that big of a fan of its flavor. As for extra-virgin olive oil, I do use it quite often but its ubiquity serves to overshadow many wonderful oils like pistachio, walnut, argan and even grapeseed.
He is my first olive: let me make a face while I swallow it.
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love.
I like Pirate's Booty. Prunes and olives, too. I love hummus. I can eat that until I die. I tend to eat mostly organic food.
There is nothing hard inside the olive; nothing hard outside the nut.
I have olive skin, so if I'm in the sun for even 15 minutes, I turn brown.
Call me not an olive, till thou see me gathered.
I've always wanted to have a Greek sitcom called Olive Lucy.
Information is a beacon, a cudgel, an olive branch, a deterrent--all depending on who wields it and how.
Her eyes were olive green―incisive and clear.
That's silly, Anna," said the Honorable Olive. "Being afraid is silly, you know it is.
I stalk certain words. . . I catch them in mid-flight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of the dish, they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives. . . I stir them, I shake them, I drink them, I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them. . . I leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers of polished wood, like coals, like pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from the waves. . . Everything exists in the word.
They can do without architecture who have no olives nor wines in the cellar.
Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?
