If I were God, it’d be a whole different story, dropping fruit at will. Let them eat apples.

The only good soul is a lost soul, and only a lost soul can find its way home.

The world is your oyster, they say, so fill it with pearls of semen.

And what is more melancholy than the old apple-trees that linger about the spot where once stood a homestead, but where there is now only a ruined chimney rising our of a grassy and weed-grown cellar? They offer their fruit to every wayfarer--apples that are bitter-sweet with the moral of times vicissitude.

there are always a few bad apples.

There's plenty of boys that will come hankering and gruvvelling around when you've got an apple, and beg the core off you; but when they're got one, and you beg for the core, and remind them how you give them a core one time, they take a mouth at you, and say thank you 'most to death, but there ain't a-going to be no core.