Pie Sarah Weeks Quotes

It's important to be grateful for the gifts we have

The most important ingredient that goes into a pie is the love that goes into making it.

To my faithful readers, because a book is like a pie—the only thing more satisfying than cooking up the story is knowing that somebody might be out there eating it up with a spoon.

whole can of it last night. I think he likes it almost as much as

How lucky am I to be right here, How lucky am I indeed. A lifetime of love and song and pie, What more could a person need?

As a rule, she didn’t like boys very much, but she had to admit, Charlie was actually pretty nice.

Polly had a gift for baking pies, and she poured her heart and soul into every one she made.

Being a humble person, she gave her pie shop a humble name—PIE.

If you want things to be different, you have to start by changing yourself.

Where’s Lardo?” asked Charlie. Alice had just pointed under the bed, when they heard a branch snap outside. Alice and Charlie looked at each other. Another snap sent Charlie skittering across the room into the closet to hide. Alice turned off the light and lay back down in her bed to wait. A few minutes later, a shadowy figure slipped through the window, crossed quickly to the bed, and hesitated slightly before slowly sliding a hand under Alice’s pillow. That’s when Lardo made his surprise attack. Charging out from under the bed, fangs bared and back arched, he leapt at the intruder with a terrifying hiss. Alice turned on the light, and Charlie came busting out of the closet screaming bloody murder. In a flash the woman, dark haired and dressed head to toe in black, was out the window again, but Charlie grabbed her by the legs and hung on for dear life. Alice’s parents came running when they heard the commotion. “What’s going on?” her mother cried. “Who’s that hanging out the window?” “It’s the person who stole your pie, Mom. The same person who broke into the pie shop and catnapped Lardo and stole Aunt Polly’s key and —” “Can you hurry it up?” said Charlie. “I don’t think I can

He makes the turn into the long gravel lane of my brother Jacob’s farm. The place originally belonged to my parents but was handed down to him, the eldest male child, when they passed away. I mentally brace as the small apple orchard on my right comes into view. The memories aren’t far behind, and I find myself looking down the rows of trees, almost expecting to see the three Amish kids sent to pick apples for pies. Jacob, Sarah, and I had been inseparable back then, and instead of picking apples, we ended up playing hide-and-seek until it was too dark to see. As was usually the case, I was the instigator. Kate, the druvvel-machah. The “troublemaker.” Or so my datt said. The one and only time I confessed to influencing my siblings, he punished me by taking away my favorite chore: bottle-feeding the three-week-old orphan goat I’d named Sammy. I’d cajoled and argued and begged. I was rewarded by being sent to bed with no supper and a stomachache from eating too many green apples. The

Lardo was getting on in years, and his big belly tended to slow him down a bit.

Alice wondered if her mother was aware that she wasn’t the only one in town who’d come down with a bad case of Blueberry Fever.

since Aunt

and