"Treacle" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... have the vote noo' they got so soon as the war showed that it was impossible and unfair to keep it frae them longer. It wasna smashing windows and pouring treacle into letter boxes that won it for them, though. It wasna the militant suffragettes that persuaded Parliament to give women the vote. It was the proof the women gave that in time of war they could play their part, ...
— Between You and Me • Sir Harry Lauder
... come in superabundance, pale yellow spikes, odorous to excess. When the trees thus adorn themselves—and they do so twice in the year in changeless fashion, in the fulness of the wet season—the air is saturated with the odour as of treacle slightly burnt. The island reeks of a vast sugar factory or distillery. Sips of the balsamic syrup are free to all, and birds and insects rejoice and are glad. A perpetual murmur and hum of satisfaction and industry haunt the neighbourhood of the trees as accompaniment to the ...
— The Confessions of a Beachcomber • E J Banfield
... bed, or of presenting his stockings when he rose, or of holding his napkin when he dined. Tailors, chandlers, tinmen, wretched hucksters, and greengrocers, are now established in the mansions of the old peers; small children are yelling at the doors, with mouths besmeared with bread and treacle; damp rags are hanging out of every one of the windows, steaming in the sun; oyster-shells, cabbage-stalks, broken crockery, old papers, lie basking in the same cheerful light. A solitary water-cart goes jingling down the ...
— The Paris Sketch Book Of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh • William Makepeace Thackeray
... laxatives are castor oil, salad oil, compound rhubarb pills, honey, stewed prunes, stewed rhubarb, Muscatel raisins, figs, grapes, roasted apples, baked pears, stewed Normandy pippins, coffee, brown-bread and treacle. Scotch oatmeal made with new milk or water, or with equal parts ...
— Searchlights on Health: Light on Dark Corners • B.G. Jefferis
... translucent canopy beneath the firmament and then descending in awful deluge. He had a confused memory of morning sunshine, of a cottage, of a hard-featured woman, of sitting before a fire with a blanket round his shoulders, of a toddling child smeared to the eyebrows with dirt and treacle whom he had wanted to wash. Over and over again, lately, he had wanted to wash that child, but it had always eluded his efforts. Once he had thought of scraping it with a bit of hoof-iron, but it had turned into a Stilton ...
— The Fortunate Youth • William J. Locke
|
