Georgia Peach Quotes

The bitch is very nice. She is as sweet as a Georgia peach. But inside every sweet peach is a strong pit. And this means she won't explain the obvious when a man is disrespectful.

One of the things women have to get out of their mindset is the notion of what a bitch is. A bitch is nice. She’s sweet as a Georgia peach. She smiles and she is feminine. She just doesn’t make decisions based on the fear of losing a man.

You psychotic little Georgia Peach.

And you’re a sweet Georgia peach with fuzzy pink skin, and I’m not biting.

Lois looked edible, and you know it was tender all the way through, a kind of mystic combination of filet mignon and a Georgia peach aching for the tongue and ready to bleed gold.

The only part of a man more sensitive than the aforementioned testicles was the male ego—like a Georgia peach.

It's stupid because I don't even know her, but sometimes you see someone and there's just this flicker. Like a light bulb that glows around the person, making them shine brighter than all the others. It's not that they're more attractive or smarter or funnier than anyone else. It's just they have a combination of all the things that speak directly to you.

At 9 p.m. Feb. 3, 1945, an American tank, the Georgia Peach, crashed into the front gate.

I want to feel proud and happy about my selflessness. But what happens when being selfless takes away a big part of your self?

Southern Girl Secrets #107: If someone’s tryin’ to bring you down, it’s just ’cause they know you’re above them.

fear does make a mighty wall of protection against the things people don’t understand.

Spring had come early that year, with warm quick rains and sudden frothing of pink peach blossoms and dogwood dappling with white stars the dark river swamp and far-off hills. Already the plowing was nearly finished, and the bloody glory of the sunset colored the fresh-cut furrows of red Georgia clay to even redder hues. The moist hungry earth, waiting upturned for the cotton seeds, showed pinkish on the sandy tops of furrows, vermilion and scarlet and maroon where shadows lay along the sides of the trenches. The whitewashed brick plantation house seemed an island set in a wild red sea, a sea of spiraling, curving, crescent billows petrified suddenly at the moment when the pink-tipped waves were breaking into surf. For here were no long, straight furrows, such as could be seen in the yellow clay fields of the flat middle Georgia country or in the lush black earth of the coastal plantations. The rolling foothill country of north Georgia was plowed in a million curves to keep the rich earth from washing down into the river bottoms. It was a savagely red land, blood-colored after rains, brick dust in droughts, the best cotton land in the world. It was a pleasant land of white houses, peaceful plowed fields and sluggish yellow rivers, but a land of contrasts, of brightest sun glare and densest shade. The plantation clearings and miles of cotton fields smiled up to a warm sun, placid, complacent. At their edges rose the virgin forests, dark and cool even in the hottest noons, mysterious, a little sinister, the soughing pines seeming to wait with an age-old patience, to threaten with soft sighs: "Be careful! Be careful! We had you once. We can take you back again.

God wouldn’t have put us here if he didn’t have a purpose in mind—

I discovered that I think God is a more generous savior than some would want us to believe. Ultimately, none of us can truly know how we'll be judged. And any mere human who thinks their judgement is somehow mightier than another's, well, they're in the wrong... Is it a sin? I can't answer that with a yes or a no. I'm not the one deciding. There are certainly people in the world making dreadful choices who love people of the opposite sex. Are you a beautiful person who is kind and true and dear and deserving of faith and justice just like the rest of us? Absolutely. I don't think God would have put you here only to torment you... So my short answer is, don't worry about it. You're perfect as you are.

Georgia Belle Fact #073: When life gives you lemons, put them in your sweet tea and take a nice long sip.

Georgia Belle Fact #012: The reason Georgia women have such big hair is because all the gossip and secrets overflowing from their heads has to go somewhere! I had to admit, Ida had done a wonderful job planning

The waiter walked over with a tray and two orangey-pink drinks. He placed them on the table. "Georgia Peaches. Peach schnapps, brandy, cranberry juice- the first request the bartender's ever had for one of these.

Compared to northern woods, which Leeda had seen on a trip up the Hudson River Valley, the Georgia forest felt primeval. Northern trees seemed picturesque and petite to Leeda, their leaves small in soft, bright greens. Georgia forests were loaded with tall, drooping trees covered in kudzu and smothered in deep greens that seemed like they could swallow someone up. Leeda had never noticed it before.

The sun had just laid the first orange slices on the horizon. It lit up the manicured grounds of the clubhouse on the rise, the rooftops of the condos in the distance, making the country club look a but like Disney World. Birdie had been to Disney World, but she’d never liked it. It didn’t feel like real life. The view was enough to make a person think that God was smiling on Horatio Balmeade. He would never have to worry about frost, unless it might kill his imported pine trees, which had no business being in Georgia in the first place. A person could assume that his club would never have any problems, that it would always be perfect, and that at some point it was inevitable it would swallow up the mess of the orchard. But Birdie saw it differently. She took it as a good omen that the sun, though it was shining on Horatio Balmeade and all of his glittering property, was the exact same color every morning. That is, it was the exact same color as peaches.

Because love like this, it’s the only thing that really matters.

The Allman Brothers were from my hometown of Macon, Georgia, so requesting this song was a small lapse into provincialism. In 1972, the group’s guitarist, Duane Allman, had died when his motorcycle had crashed into the back of a peach truck. They subsequently named the album they had been working on, Eat A Peach. Its memorable lyrics, which came pouring out of Wisconsin’s machine at 9,000 feet in the California mountains, go as follows: Well, I’ve got to run to keep from hiding And I’m bound to keep on riding And I’ve got one more silver dollar But I’m not gonna’ let ‘em catch me, no Not gonna’ let ‘em catch the midnight rider. The song is a paen to freedom and independence, which, come to think about it, is kinda’ what the PCT is. And the God’s-honest-truth is that for the next two days this song carried me a total of fifty miles in an elevated state of morale.

I’d like a peach cobbler. Georgia shoemakers are tasty.

Why do you like me, Moses?” I huffed, hands on my hips. I was tired of being pushed and pulled, never knowing what he really wanted. “Who says I do?” he answered softly. But he turned his eyes on me. And his eyes kept me hopeful when his words would have crushed me. His eyes said he did. “Is that one of your laws? Thou shall not like Georgia? “Nah. It’s thou shall not get strung up.” His words made me sick. “Strung up? Like lynched? That’s just sick Moses. We may sound like hicks. I may say seen when I should say saw. I may say was when I should say were. We may be small town people with small town ways. But you being black, or whatever color you are, doesn’t matter to anyone here. This isn’t the sixties, and it sure as hell ain’t the Deep South.” “But it’s Georgia,” he answered softly, playing games with my name the way I had done. “And you’re a sweet Georgia peach with fuzzy pink skin, and I’m not biting.

My new life had begun to bloom as sweetly as a Georgia peach.

Never thought they would last with him being tall and lanky as hell and she being the typical overly thick Georgia peach woman, but if yall niggas reading this ever hear

There are no more borders between us. Everything is blurry. And when I look at him, I see the future, yet I'm also fully aware he's going to crush my heart.

Cinnamon, cloves, and..." Angela tilted her head to one side. "Ginger?" Darn it. "You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?" Using her fork, Angela pointed to the cake. "Fresh peaches too." Ella sighed. "The Piggly Wiggly just got a shipment from Georgia. That's what made me decide to make that cake to begin with." "It's delicious. This is the first upside-down cake I've had with pralines." Angela licked her fork, her expression softening. "John loved peaches, but I told him he didn't know good peaches until he'd had one right off the tree, made sweet by the heat. They should be soft, but not too much, and smell like..." Angela closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if she could smell those fresh peaches. "One summer, I had Jules bring tree-ripened peaches with her when she came to drop off the boys in the Hamptons for their vacation. You should have seen John's face when he bit into that first one. You'd have thought he'd seen a glimpse of heaven.

Georgia peach

...what I do know is I'll never again let my own fear hurt someone I love. Because love like this, it's the only thing that really matters.

The Bible's only explicit reference to homosexuality is that passage in Leviticus you misquoted, and even it is sort of vague. Man shall not lie with man. Says nothing about sex or love or long-term commitment.

There ain’t no revolution, it’s evolution, but every time I’m in Georgia I eat a peach for peace.