“Are you serious? I don’t want any of your lemons.”
“When life gives you lemons…”
“You are so lame!” Lisa rolled her eyes at her bestfriend, Kaley. They were trying to figure out the best way to make money to go to the Beyonce concert.
Lemon has a favorite chicken soup and it’s called lammon soup. Lammon the fried piper is a half moon favorite of the chicken stars orchestra. It’s not uncommon for a lemon to try feeding a bear with his hands in the circus.
do not buy that car. why not? its got lemon written all over it. why do you think so? the color, for one, that is not a car color. two, you can see that there is some paint chipping off there.
There was a lemon on the table, cut in half. It had the word “ribbon” written on one side. Richard knew, beyond a doubt, that this was a vital clue to decipher who killed the carpenter.
Our love was like lemons. Bright and alluring and full of magic. In doses, it was perfect. Adding that little sparkle to everyday life. But sometimes it was too much. You can be strong, overpowering. No matter what, it always ends up bitter.
Ze pakte me zachtjes vast bij mijn hand en trok me richting het kraampje waar de citroenlimonade werd verkocht. ‘‘Ik trakteer. Het is zo warm, je kan vast wel een koud glas gebruiken.’’ Ze kocht twee bekertjes, ieder vijftig cent, en gaf mij er eentje. Zo was onze vriendschap begonnen: de vriendschap die overging op liefde toen we daar oud genoeg voor waren. En zo stonden we er nu dus ook voor: Emma en ik.
The Lemon yellow curtains were complete. now she just had to wait for Gary to get home to hang them in the new bedroom. she really hoped that he would like them, he hadn’t seemed very interested in anything to do with the new baby, even though before hand he was so enthusiastic, it was like since the baby came and reality hit, he just didn’t care.
The best time life gave me lemons was when this roadie of one of my favorite bands bought me and my friends some tequila shots. We never really met the band members but the evening was pretty good anyway.
Lemon is like love, sometime sweet, sometime sour. Sometimes you like it sweet but sometimes you like it sour. Maybe sometimes it is meant to be both together mixed with something else.
yellow sunlight stings on tongue fast detox was no fun lost some weight but soon found out eating nothing is a stupid idea caus eyou get fat again when you eat again, anyway, now i worry the lemons damaged my teeth
a lemon is awesome. yesterday i had lemon pie and it saved my lfe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! how well i just poped it on the theifs face when he came to stab me!!!!!!!!!!!!!
isnt this awesome
so remember a lemon a day keeps theifs away!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
She pulled away from him, chest heaving and eyes narrowed spitefully. His lips had tasted of lemon. One hand shoved him away, while the other wiped furiously at her mouth.
it was a piece of shit, i dont know who calls it or called it a lemon in the first place, but as soon as the money exchanged hands i knew what it was. a fucking money pit.
Lemons are the tastiest of fruits, but also the least loyal, and will turn on you in an instant. Specifically, the instant that they will turn is the instant that you put them in your mouth, and the thing that they will turn is sour. However, if snuck up upon, at (it is generally agreed, among the sophisticates) at least .73 times the speed of light, they can be a delicious snack.
I love lemon. Especially after I eat a hotpot meal. My stomach remain so full for hours. If I can just have a nice hot lemon water, it will help my digestion much.
I still can’t believe they don’t allow lemons on fanfiction. I mean, sure, most of them are crap, but every now and then you get a great story that just HAPPENS to have an erotic scene, and the authors creativity is ruined because he decided to get a bit dirty for a few pages.
She was trying to sell me a lemon, and I wasn’t going to let it slide. I got back in my finicky truck passed down from my grandfather and rattled my way home, my brother staring at me as I lurched into the driveway.
“No car?” he asked as I stepped onto the pavement, pulling off my cap.
“Nope. She tried to sell me a lemon.”
My brother frowned. “Why was she trying to sell you citrus at a car shop?”
Yeah, did I mention my brother was kind of an idiot?
A lemon slice with your water. It’s always that way when you go to, say, a diner. You sit on those torn cushions, at those greasy tables, and you get your glass of water with a lemon slice. Maybe it’s gross, you cringe when you see it dipping in your glass, but you accept it for what it is.
When you look out at your world, it’s not so different. It’s gross and it’s stupid, but we’ll stay for the food and there’s nothing like having a taste of what you know.
I roll the puckered, wilted lemon between my hand and let the bitter juice trickle down my fingers. It runs down my wrists, wrapping around my arms in tangled, viscous vines.
It’s hot. So hot. The humid day bears down on my chest, the air thick with smog the colour of leftover cereal milk. There is no sounds, there is no movement. Even the grass is too hot to do anything but bow down to the sardonic sun, and slowly yellow and rot.
The slam of the bedroom door upstairs startles me from my stupor, and I remember that I’m suppose to be making lemonade. I notice the citric puddle that has begun to accumulate around my bare feet, and quickly drop to my knees to begin cleaning the mess I have made. God, I am disgusting. Smack! I flinch at the sickening sound as my already bruised knees collide against the marble floor in my haste. God, I am disgusting. Scathing shivers ricochets through my knee caps down to my ankles, but I scrub anyhow. Sweat trickles down my forehead in sticky beads, and the fly-aways from my braid cling to my face is silky, blonde clumps as I scrub and scrub and scrub. God, I am disgusting. Scrub, scrub, scrub harder, wash it all away.
It’s hot, so hot. I need to make lemonade.
I can hear the steps coming down the hallways steps- soft at first, but louder, almost deafening, as they approach the landing. God, I am disgusting.
“God, you are disgusting.”
I know, I know.
Crap! I can’t tell anything about lemon because when I’m writing this I was just drinking lychee tea. I remember a scene in Harry Potter, Dumbledore said something about lemon. It made him look crazy. Also, in the past I liked lemon squash, but now there is no such drink at Waroeng Steak- a hangout place I used to buy lemon squash. I miss that drink, I miss Harry Potter times.
I miss my best friend. We used to watch Harry Potter together. When the earthquake came, in front of the TV we would stare each other for just a second and realize it was earthquake then ran fast to the door.
I watch videos of babies eating lemons. Why are people feeding babies lemons? Are the adults so fulfilled by the knowledge that this sweet, potato-headed, bumbling human will look at them with big, wet eyes and love them no matter what? No matter how many lemons they feed them in hopes of increasing youtube traffic.
The lemon sits there, staring at me. Which is silly; lemons can’t stare. Yet in a way it is: searching me, making me feel guilty for picking an orange. “I’m sorry, little lemon,” I whisper. “It’s just not your time..” A single bead of dew drips from the lemon, like a loan tear, mourning its rejection.
I wait with the lemon as I eat my orange. I stare back into its shining yellow skin, looking for beauty in this tangy fruit. Failing to see the desire, I turn to leave, when I see a boy around 4 years old approach the stand. He looks over the fruits and vegetables, then turns to leave when something catches his eye.
Solemnly, he picks up the little lemon, pockets it, and disappears into the crowd.
One day I was sitting in my house in New Orleans and my dad told m e the story of my first time eating a lemon. He said that I was supposed have the cute baby face that YouTube vids are made of, but wanting to impress him, I stayed strong and pretended like I liked in. In reality, it sucked lol.
The shoes were lemon colored. The hat was lemon colored. The coat was lemon colored. It seemed that today, even the sky was lemon colored. On the one day that Raymond actually had to do something important, everything was ugly.
The lemon is definitely the most sarcastic fruit of the bunch. Constantly talking down to the others with the sour expressions and sarcasm. Or so they thought. They didn’t understand that it was just his way of expressing himself, and that he never took his words all that seriously.
“Lemon,” Bono’s voice came from the CD player. I watched Dan pack his things. It was funny, we met at a U2 concert and he was leaving to the sound of the band playing. It was a full circle.
She loved lemons. Hell she craved them from the moment the sun rose to its peak and kissed the side of her face until she awoke. It was in that moment that she realized her lover had been long gone. Leaving only the taste of lemon lozanges in her mouth and latenight memories. Bittersweet.
His shirt was bright, standing out like a flamingo in a murder of crows. On it was a image of a lemon, just a shade or two dimmer than the cloth around it.
lemons are yellow and sour. Life hands you lemons but when it does, add some sugar to make some lemonade. Make it wonder why it tried to sour your life in the first place because all you are going to do it make it better. It can’t take over you and your life. Only you are. Show the lemon who is boss.
She hustled them into the room, her voice a whisper. “Take care on the road. The men you will meet are not known for their kindness.”
He nodded and quickly took off on the horse. The small town was quickly growing to be a distant speck. Only then did he take out the satchel, it’s secret inside. The lemon. The last lemon.
She wore a lemon-printed dress with combat boots and a black sweater. They called her sad lemons.
“Are you serious? I don’t want any of your lemons.”
“When life gives you lemons…”
“You are so lame!” Lisa rolled her eyes at her bestfriend, Kaley. They were trying to figure out the best way to make money to go to the Beyonce concert.
Lemon has a favorite chicken soup and it’s called lammon soup. Lammon the fried piper is a half moon favorite of the chicken stars orchestra. It’s not uncommon for a lemon to try feeding a bear with his hands in the circus.
do not buy that car. why not? its got lemon written all over it. why do you think so? the color, for one, that is not a car color. two, you can see that there is some paint chipping off there.
There was a lemon on the table, cut in half. It had the word “ribbon” written on one side. Richard knew, beyond a doubt, that this was a vital clue to decipher who killed the carpenter.
Toungs coil with memories
sticky summer days ending with
sweet lemonade
sour sour sour sour
sweet
yellow sunshine fading to hot summer nights
Our love was like lemons. Bright and alluring and full of magic. In doses, it was perfect. Adding that little sparkle to everyday life. But sometimes it was too much. You can be strong, overpowering. No matter what, it always ends up bitter.
Lemon fluorescent jacket. Car fumes and lights and steel; not like a lemon. Not fresh and sugar-sour. Neon and unhealthy.
Ze pakte me zachtjes vast bij mijn hand en trok me richting het kraampje waar de citroenlimonade werd verkocht. ‘‘Ik trakteer. Het is zo warm, je kan vast wel een koud glas gebruiken.’’ Ze kocht twee bekertjes, ieder vijftig cent, en gaf mij er eentje. Zo was onze vriendschap begonnen: de vriendschap die overging op liefde toen we daar oud genoeg voor waren. En zo stonden we er nu dus ook voor: Emma en ik.
The Lemon yellow curtains were complete. now she just had to wait for Gary to get home to hang them in the new bedroom. she really hoped that he would like them, he hadn’t seemed very interested in anything to do with the new baby, even though before hand he was so enthusiastic, it was like since the baby came and reality hit, he just didn’t care.
The best time life gave me lemons was when this roadie of one of my favorite bands bought me and my friends some tequila shots. We never really met the band members but the evening was pretty good anyway.
love
no, this time is going. it’s not hard not to think about colour or the fruit. this time, no going. such blue bars.
Lemon is like love, sometime sweet, sometime sour. Sometimes you like it sweet but sometimes you like it sour. Maybe sometimes it is meant to be both together mixed with something else.
yellow sunlight stings on tongue fast detox was no fun lost some weight but soon found out eating nothing is a stupid idea caus eyou get fat again when you eat again, anyway, now i worry the lemons damaged my teeth
yellow, beautiful citrus
sour yet so sweet
and something tasty
comes from this treat
a lemon is awesome. yesterday i had lemon pie and it saved my lfe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! how well i just poped it on the theifs face when he came to stab me!!!!!!!!!!!!!
isnt this awesome
so remember a lemon a day keeps theifs away!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
She pulled away from him, chest heaving and eyes narrowed spitefully. His lips had tasted of lemon. One hand shoved him away, while the other wiped furiously at her mouth.
it was a piece of shit, i dont know who calls it or called it a lemon in the first place, but as soon as the money exchanged hands i knew what it was. a fucking money pit.
Thus far the citric acid contained within his blood did not prompt any problems. The yellow perforated skin did however pose a problem.
Lemons are the tastiest of fruits, but also the least loyal, and will turn on you in an instant. Specifically, the instant that they will turn is the instant that you put them in your mouth, and the thing that they will turn is sour. However, if snuck up upon, at (it is generally agreed, among the sophisticates) at least .73 times the speed of light, they can be a delicious snack.
The bright yellow clashed with everything around it. In a dark room, with a dark table with dark chairs. A dark bowl and dark everything.
Everything was dark, like life. But in the middle of everything dark was one bright thing. A lemon.
Because when life gives you lemons…
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
I love lemon. Especially after I eat a hotpot meal. My stomach remain so full for hours. If I can just have a nice hot lemon water, it will help my digestion much.
HIS HAIR WAS THE COLOR OF LEMONS (cries because The Book Thief)
This wasn’t an original piece of writing, but now I’m having writer’s feelings and cannot articulate properly.
I still can’t believe they don’t allow lemons on fanfiction. I mean, sure, most of them are crap, but every now and then you get a great story that just HAPPENS to have an erotic scene, and the authors creativity is ruined because he decided to get a bit dirty for a few pages.
She was trying to sell me a lemon, and I wasn’t going to let it slide. I got back in my finicky truck passed down from my grandfather and rattled my way home, my brother staring at me as I lurched into the driveway.
“No car?” he asked as I stepped onto the pavement, pulling off my cap.
“Nope. She tried to sell me a lemon.”
My brother frowned. “Why was she trying to sell you citrus at a car shop?”
Yeah, did I mention my brother was kind of an idiot?
A lemon slice with your water. It’s always that way when you go to, say, a diner. You sit on those torn cushions, at those greasy tables, and you get your glass of water with a lemon slice. Maybe it’s gross, you cringe when you see it dipping in your glass, but you accept it for what it is.
When you look out at your world, it’s not so different. It’s gross and it’s stupid, but we’ll stay for the food and there’s nothing like having a taste of what you know.
I roll the puckered, wilted lemon between my hand and let the bitter juice trickle down my fingers. It runs down my wrists, wrapping around my arms in tangled, viscous vines.
It’s hot. So hot. The humid day bears down on my chest, the air thick with smog the colour of leftover cereal milk. There is no sounds, there is no movement. Even the grass is too hot to do anything but bow down to the sardonic sun, and slowly yellow and rot.
The slam of the bedroom door upstairs startles me from my stupor, and I remember that I’m suppose to be making lemonade. I notice the citric puddle that has begun to accumulate around my bare feet, and quickly drop to my knees to begin cleaning the mess I have made. God, I am disgusting. Smack! I flinch at the sickening sound as my already bruised knees collide against the marble floor in my haste. God, I am disgusting. Scathing shivers ricochets through my knee caps down to my ankles, but I scrub anyhow. Sweat trickles down my forehead in sticky beads, and the fly-aways from my braid cling to my face is silky, blonde clumps as I scrub and scrub and scrub. God, I am disgusting. Scrub, scrub, scrub harder, wash it all away.
It’s hot, so hot. I need to make lemonade.
I can hear the steps coming down the hallways steps- soft at first, but louder, almost deafening, as they approach the landing. God, I am disgusting.
“God, you are disgusting.”
I know, I know.
Crap! I can’t tell anything about lemon because when I’m writing this I was just drinking lychee tea. I remember a scene in Harry Potter, Dumbledore said something about lemon. It made him look crazy. Also, in the past I liked lemon squash, but now there is no such drink at Waroeng Steak- a hangout place I used to buy lemon squash. I miss that drink, I miss Harry Potter times.
I miss my best friend. We used to watch Harry Potter together. When the earthquake came, in front of the TV we would stare each other for just a second and realize it was earthquake then ran fast to the door.
Lemon, for me is just a word to reveal the past.
I watch videos of babies eating lemons. Why are people feeding babies lemons? Are the adults so fulfilled by the knowledge that this sweet, potato-headed, bumbling human will look at them with big, wet eyes and love them no matter what? No matter how many lemons they feed them in hopes of increasing youtube traffic.
The lemon sits there, staring at me. Which is silly; lemons can’t stare. Yet in a way it is: searching me, making me feel guilty for picking an orange. “I’m sorry, little lemon,” I whisper. “It’s just not your time..” A single bead of dew drips from the lemon, like a loan tear, mourning its rejection.
I wait with the lemon as I eat my orange. I stare back into its shining yellow skin, looking for beauty in this tangy fruit. Failing to see the desire, I turn to leave, when I see a boy around 4 years old approach the stand. He looks over the fruits and vegetables, then turns to leave when something catches his eye.
Solemnly, he picks up the little lemon, pockets it, and disappears into the crowd.
One day I was sitting in my house in New Orleans and my dad told m e the story of my first time eating a lemon. He said that I was supposed have the cute baby face that YouTube vids are made of, but wanting to impress him, I stayed strong and pretended like I liked in. In reality, it sucked lol.
The shoes were lemon colored. The hat was lemon colored. The coat was lemon colored. It seemed that today, even the sky was lemon colored. On the one day that Raymond actually had to do something important, everything was ugly.
The lemon is definitely the most sarcastic fruit of the bunch. Constantly talking down to the others with the sour expressions and sarcasm. Or so they thought. They didn’t understand that it was just his way of expressing himself, and that he never took his words all that seriously.
“Lemon,” Bono’s voice came from the CD player. I watched Dan pack his things. It was funny, we met at a U2 concert and he was leaving to the sound of the band playing. It was a full circle.
She loved lemons. Hell she craved them from the moment the sun rose to its peak and kissed the side of her face until she awoke. It was in that moment that she realized her lover had been long gone. Leaving only the taste of lemon lozanges in her mouth and latenight memories. Bittersweet.
His shirt was bright, standing out like a flamingo in a murder of crows. On it was a image of a lemon, just a shade or two dimmer than the cloth around it.
lemons are yellow and sour. Life hands you lemons but when it does, add some sugar to make some lemonade. Make it wonder why it tried to sour your life in the first place because all you are going to do it make it better. It can’t take over you and your life. Only you are. Show the lemon who is boss.
She hustled them into the room, her voice a whisper. “Take care on the road. The men you will meet are not known for their kindness.”
He nodded and quickly took off on the horse. The small town was quickly growing to be a distant speck. Only then did he take out the satchel, it’s secret inside. The lemon. The last lemon.