A Quote by Robert Louis Stevenson

Let first the onion flourish there,
Rose among roots, the maiden-fair,
Wine-scented and poetic soul
Of the capacious salad bowl. — © Robert Louis Stevenson
Let first the onion flourish there, Rose among roots, the maiden-fair, Wine-scented and poetic soul Of the capacious salad bowl.
In onion is strength; and a garden without it lacks flavour. The onion, in its satin wrappings, is among the most beautiful of vegetables; and it is the only one that represents the essence of things. It can almost be said to have a soul.
The grotesque prudishness and archness with which garlic is treated in [England] has led to the superstition that rubbing the bowl with it before putting the salad in gives sufficient flavor. It rather depends whether you are going to eat the bowl or the salad.
We don't need a melting pot in this country, folks. We need a salad bowl. In a salad bowl, you put in the different things. You want the vegetables - the lettuce, the cucumbers, the onions, the green peppers - to maintain their identity. You appreciate differences.
We don't need a melting pot in this country, folks. We need a salad bowl. In a salad bowl, you put in the different things. You want the vegetables — the lettuce, the cucumbers, the onions, the green peppers — to maintain their identity. You appreciate differences.
Every rose that is sweet-scented within, That rose is telling of the secrets of the Universal.
For when we quaff the gen'rous bowl, Then sleep the sorrows of our soul. Let us drink the juice divine, The gift of Bacchus, god of wine. When I take wine, my cares go to rest.
I make a big salad bowl just for myself, double or triple the size of a normal salad.
The soul whose bosom lust did never touch Is God's fair bride; and maiden's souls are such.
Now that’s true poetic irony. I rush into battle to defend the fair name of Rose Larkin, and what does she do but fetch Robert to stop me.
I've always loved the scent of rose; it's just the most beautiful scent. If you open my bathroom cupboard, everything is rose scented.
The parlour cars and Pullmans are packed also with scented assassins, salad-eaters who murder on milk.
I like to have fish and salad - mackerel, Dover sole or gurnard, and I usually pan-fry it or use the barbecue. I make salad with avocados, tomato, lettuce and spring onions, with an olive oil and red wine dressing.
The Rose Bowl is the only bowl I've ever seen that I didn't have to clean.
The fears of what may come to pass, I cast them all away, Among the clover scented grass, Among the new-mown hay.
White rose in red rose-garden Is not so white; Snowdrops, that plead for pardon And pine for fright Because the hard East blows Over their maiden vows, Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.
pulled into my convenient neighborhood fast food restaurant. I ordered shrimp salad, onion rings, and a beer. The shrimp were straight out of the freezer, the onion rings soggy. Looking around the place, though, I failed to spot a single customer banging on a tray or complaining to a waitress. So I shut up and finished my food. Expect nothing, get nothing.
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