"Ripen" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... sincerity of woe; When Troy first bled beneath the Grecian arms, She shone unrivall'd with a blaze of charms; Thy infant son her fragrant bosom press'd, Hung at her knee, or wanton'd at her breast; But now the years a numerous train have ran; The blooming boy is ripen'd into man; Thy eyes shall see him burn with noble fire, The sire shall bless his son, the son his sire; But my Orestes never met these eyes, Without one look the murder'd father dies; Then from a wretched friend this wisdom learn, E'en to thy queen disguised, unknown, return; ...
— The Odyssey of Homer • Homer, translated by Alexander Pope
... seed of our childish friendship to ripen into the full flower of love, and then blast it with ...
— Nick Baba's Last Drink and Other Sketches • George P. Goff
... But now she was a morbid and retiring creature, fourteen or fifteen years old, looking out askance and half suspiciously on the world from under the shadow of her immense eyelashes, and singing from room to room with a strange voice that a year or two would ripen into tones fit for a siren. There was just the difference in age between her and Lilian that, while it allowed them companionship, gave Lilian, together with the fact of her engagement to John, a glorious dignity in Helen's eyes that ...
— Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 15, - No. 87, March, 1875 • Various
... Ripen, ye Custard Apples, round and fair, Practise your songs, O Bulbuls, on the bough, Surely some sweeter sweetness haunts the air; Maybe His feet draw ...
— Last Poems • Laurence Hope
... rays slant down upon your grate, then the fire blanches and blenches, cowers, crumbles, and collapses. It cannot compete with its archetype. It cannot suffice a sun-steeped swallow, or ripen a plum, or parch the carpet. Yet, in its modest way, it is to your room what the sun is to the world; and where, during the greater part of the year, would you be without it? I do not wonder that the poor, when they have to choose between fuel and food, ...
— Yet Again • Max Beerbohm
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