Clary stopped wondering about peanut-fish-olive-tomato…

Clary stopped dead in her tracks. "Simon?" "Oh, God," said Jace, sounding resigned. "And here I'd actually hoped I'd got hold of something interesting."…

— Cassandra Clare

“One minute walking along, the next minute dead. Why?" THINK OF IT BEING MORE... DIMENSIONALLY DISADVANTAGED. "Yes. I know." Beano relaxed, and stopped wondering…

— Terry Pratchett

I gradually stopped wondering, ‘What life do I have?' and began to consider, ‘What life can I build?

— Christopher Reeve

The Worse Thing Is Caring About Someone, Wondering How They Are When The Truth Is, They've Stopped Wondering About You A Long Time Ago.

— Anonymous

Clary wondered what exactly peanut-fish-olive-tomato soup tasted like.

— Cassandra Clare

He'd felt like a jack-o-lantern for the past few days, as if his guts had been yanked out with a fork and dumped in…

— Cassandra Clare

One of the heavy marble busts that lined the higher shelves had slid free and was falling toward her; she ducked out of its…

— Cassandra Clare

Meliorn?” said Clary. “I’ve met you, haven’t I? You used to go out with Isabelle Lightwood.” Meliorn was almost expressionless, but Clary could have…

— Cassandra Clare

“For we are like olives: only when we are crushed do we yield what is best in us.”

— Peter Orner

Just as oil is present in every part of the olive, so love permeates every part of creation.

— Paramahansa Yogananda

Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, The sailing pine,the cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry,…

— Edmund Spenser

[W]ar is a question, under our constitution, not of Executive, but of Legislative cognizance. It belongs to Congress to say whether the Nation shall…

— Alexander Hamilton

Mark how fleeting and paltry is the estate of man-yesterday in embryo, tomorrow a mummy or ashes. So for the hairsbreadth of time assigned…

— Marcus Aurelius

I've always wanted to have a Greek sitcom called Olive Lucy.

— Zach Galifianakis

He will hear the rain before he feels it, a clicking on the dry grass, on the olive leaves.

— Michael Ondaatje