Peaches for Father Francis Quotes

“Some people spend the whole of their lives sitting waiting for one train, only to find that they never even made it to the station.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

“More. Oh that word. That deceptive word. That eater of lives; that malcontent.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

“All those moments, those memories. Everything that we are, compressed in just two or three kilos of paper — the weight of a human heart.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

“Those people who say that words have no power know nothing of the nature of words. Words, well placed, can end a regime; can turn affection to hatred; can start a religion or even a war. Words are the shepherds of lies; they lead the best of us to the slaughter.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“But if you could travel back through Time, and find yourself as you used to be, wouldn't you try, just once at least, to give her some kind of warning? Wouldn't you want to make things right?”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

“There's something very comforting about the ritual of jam-making. It speaks of cellars filled with preserves; of neat rows of jars on pantry shelves. It speaks of winter mornings and bowls of chocolat au lait, with thick slices of good fresh bread and last year's peach jam, like a promise of sunshine at the darkest point of the year. It speaks of four stone walls, a roof, and of seasons that turn in the same place, in the same way, year after year, with sweet familiarity. It is the taste of home.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

“Sometimes walking away is best. I should know. It's my specialty.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“You priests. You're all the same. You think fasting helps you think about God, when anyone who can cook would tell you that fasting just makes you think about food.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“Roux flung a handful of dried shavings on to the embers of his fire; the scent was sharp and immediate, lemon grass and lavender, sage and applewood and pine, like the campfires of my childhood.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“-Nem tudod elhallgattatni a kutyát?
A fiú szánakozva nézett rá.
-Nem igazán. - felelte. - Vlad hisz a szólásszabadságban.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“There was already a shop selling fabrics there; another sold mangoes and lentils and yams. There was a café- no alcohol, but mint tea, and glass-water pipes of kif- that fragrant blend of tobacco and marijuana so common in Morocco. There was a market every week, selling strange and exotic fruit and vegetables brought in from the docks at Marseille, and a little bakery, selling flatbread and pancakes and sweet milk rolls and honey pastries and almond briouats.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“I have never belonged to a tribe. It gives me a different perspective. Perhaps if I did, I too would feel ill at ease in Les Marauds. But I have always been different. Perhaps that's why I find it easier to cross the narrow boundaries between one tribe and the next. To belong so often means to exclude; to think in terms of us and them - to little words that, juxtaposed, so often lead to conflict.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“In her hand the rice-paper twist releases its battery of scents; bitter chocolate melted with cream and sweetened with vanilla seeds, scented with roses as red as your heart. Try me. Taste me. Test me.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“I took out my last batch of chocolates; a handful of dark and light truffles rolled in spiced cocoa powder. There's cardamom, for comfort; vanilla seeds for sweetness; green tea, rose and tamarind for harmony and goodwill. Sprinkled with gold leaf, they look like tiny Christmas baubles; prettily scented; perfectly round- how could she resist these?”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“Instead I turned my attention back to the copper of peach jam, releasing its autumnal scent. Peach is perhaps the most perfect fruit for making jam: sweet, yet firm; the golden flesh turning to a darker burnt-orange with cooking. My method allows the pieces of fruit to stay intact during the process, while retaining all the flavor. Today, we will leave the sugar and peach mixture to steep under a sheet of muslin; tomorrow, we will cook it, then ladle it into clean glass jars to put away for the winter.
There's something very comforting about the ritual of jam-making. It speaks of cellars filled with preserves; of neat rows of jars on pantry shelves. It speaks of winter mornings and bowls of chocolat au lait, with thick slices of good fresh bread and last year's peach jam, like a promise of sunshine at the darkest point of the year. It speaks of four stone walls, a roof, and of seasons that turn in the same place, in the same way, year after year, with sweet familiarity. It is the taste of home.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“This was my thought as I followed her to the cemetery, pausing every few minutes as she and the children stopped to pick a handful of roadside flowers- weeds, for the most part- dandelions; ragwort; daisies; poppies; a stray anemone from the verge; a fistful of rosemary from someone's garden, pushing its shoots through a dry stone wall.
Of course, Vianne Rocher likes weeds. And the children- the young one especially- lent themselves to the game with glee, so that by the time we reached the place, she had a whole armful of flowers and herbs tied together with bindweed and a straggle of wild strawberry-”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“We came on the wind of the carnival. Eight and a half long years ago, on a wind that seemed to promise so much; a mad wind, full of confetti and scented with smoke and pancakes cooked by the side of the road. The pancake stall is still there, and the crowds that line the side of the street, and the flower-decked cart with its motley crew of fairies, wolves and witches. I bought a galette from that very stall. I bought one now, to remember. Still as good, just the right side of burnt, and the flavors- butter and salt and rye- help reawaken the memory.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“Can't you shut that dog up?"
The boy gave me a pitying look. "Not really," he said. "Vlad's a believer in free speech.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“Never challenge Life to a game, my mother used to say to me. Because Life plays dirty, changes the rules, steals the cards right out of your hands or, sometimes, turns them all to blank―”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“Come to me in love, Love. Come to me in love.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“my mother have taught me that food is a universal passport. Whatever the constraints of language, culture or geography, food crosses over all boundaries. To offer food is to extend the hand of friendship; to accept is to be accepted into the most closed of communities. I”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

“we have the uncanny knack of focusing on difference; as if excluding others could make our sense of identity stronger. And yet, in all my travels, I have found that people are mostly the same everywhere.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé: A Novel

“But I have always been different. Perhaps that’s why I find it easier to cross the narrow boundaries between one tribe and the next. To belong so often means to exclude; to think in terms of us and them – two little words that, juxtaposed, so often lead to conflict.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé: A Novel

“Anos de viagens com a minha mãe ensinaram-se que a comida é o passaporte universal. Quaisquer que sejam as barreiras de lingua, cultura ou geografia, a comida atravessa todas as fronteiras.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

“Azok, akik szerint a szavaknak nincs hatalmuk, nincsenek tisztában a szavak természetével. A jól irányzott szavak véget vethetnek egy uralkodó rendszernek, vallást alapíthatnak vagy háborút indíthatnak. A szavak a hazugságok pásztorai, sorainkból a legjobbakat máglyára küldhetik.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“To belong so often means to exclude;”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Monsieur le Curé

“To belong so often means to exclude; to think in terms of us and them - two little words that, juxtaposed, so often lead to conflict." - Monsieur Le Curé.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“I can almost see it now, in red and yellow lettering; as if the events of the past eight years have been neatly and prettily folded away, leaving no rough edges, no blanks, just the gloss of recovered time.
And it smells of the Americas; the court of Montezuma; spiced, in golden goblets and mixed with wine and pomegranate juice. And it smells of cream and cardamom; of sacrificial bonfires; of temples and of palaces; of vanilla and tonka and mocha and rose. The scent is overwhelming; it rushes through me like the wind; it sweeps me off my feet like love-
Will you stay, Vianne? Will you stay?”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“We began with dates, the traditional way of breaking fast at Ramadan. Then, harissa and rose-petal soup, with crêpes mille trous, saffron couscous and roast spiced lamb. Almonds and apricots for dessert, with rahat loukoum and coconut rice.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“Egyenessége ellenére Roux-ban van valami sértődöttség. Mint egy vadon élő állat, akit meg lehet ugyan szelidíteni, de sosem felejti el a kegyetlenséget, és egyszerre tud szenvedélyesen hűséges és meg nem bocsátó lenni. Gyanítom, hogy Reynaud-t illetően sosem lesz más a véleménye, ami meg a falut illeti, csak megvetést érez Lansquenet szelíd kis nyulacskái iránt, akik oly csendesen éldegélnek a Tannes partján, sosem mernek a legközelebbi hegynél messzebbre tekinteni, ha meglegyinti őket a legcsekélyebb változás szellője, vagy ha idegen érkezik, összerázkódnak...”
― Joanne Harris, Csokoládés barack