Anglais example sentences with "lemons"

Lemons and limes are acidic fruits.
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Acid fruits like pineapples and lemons are sour.
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These lemons are fresh.
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Oranges are sweeter than lemons.
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They export a lot of fruit, such as oranges, grapefruits and lemons.
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Lemons are sour.
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Oranges signify a happy love while lemons symbolize an unrequited one.
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That car dealership has a reputation for selling lemons.
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When practicing at home, the aspiring bartender had to use a potato peeler to zest lemons.
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When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
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I'll squeeze lemons all afternoon if it's necessary.
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Oranges signify a happy love, while lemons - an unrequited one.
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If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
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Acerolas have 17 times as much vitamin C as lemons.
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For me, strawberries are more sour than lemons.
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Do you like the taste of lemons?
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If life deals you lemons, make lemonade.
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Lemons grow on lemon trees and oranges on orange trees.
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Lemons contain citric acid.
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Oranges symbolize a happy love, while lemons an unreciprocated love.
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The lemons are cheap.
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I used the lemons that Tom gave me to make lemonade.
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We put the lemons in the refrigerator.
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I like oranges, but I like lemons more.
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Jeanne will eat my lemons.
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Adding zest from lemons or oranges to cakes can give them a great flavour.
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Sami cut up the lemons.
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We got plenty of fresh oranges, lemons, figs, apricots, etc., in the Azores.
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Lemons taste sour.
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The air is filled with the fresh smell of lemons.
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Lemons are the typical fruit of Italy's Amalfi Coast.
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Lemons are citrus fruits.
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Mary asked Tom to buy some berries; didn't matter what sort, she said. Tom, a botanist, returned with bananas, lemons, pineapples, aubergines, peppers, various melons and gourds, tomatoes, avocados, dates, kiwis and, to top it all, papayas – proud of having gathered such a selection. Yes, it had cost him no little amount, but satisfying Mary to the highest degree was always Tom's number-one priority.
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Lemons are usually sour.
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It is the country where lemons bloom.
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To make fig jam, you need figs, sugar, and few lemons.
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To make fig jam, you need figs, sugar, and a couple lemons.
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Lemons planted in pots are smaller than those planted in the ground.
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Lemons are yellow.
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Lemons and limes are citrus fruits.

When life gives you lemons, squeeze them back into life's eyes.

Have you already squeezed all the lemons?

One lemon, a thousand lemons, a million lemons.

Put the apple pulp and the juice of three lemons into the syrup and boil gently until stiff enough to drop heavily from the spoon.

Buy five lemons and get one more for free.

We are pressed like lemons.

Life never gave us lemons; we invented them all by ourselves.

Everyone looked like they had been eating lemons.

Lemons are a good source of Vitamin C.

I bought oranges and lemons.

I need some lemons.

Lemons and pink grapefruits are next to the bottle.

I am eating lemons.

It's flavored like lemons.

Lemons can do a lot for our health.

John's going to eat my lemons.

We're going to need three lemons.

After a dinner of 4 fresh green figs, some refrigerated pickled fig pieces, and microwaved spaghetti Alfredo, eaten on the balcony under a blue sky, I sipped my iced lime water whilst watching the still street below and the big tall conifer beyond. I've been talking to Michael the Dane-French ufologist in recent days about lots of things: My university was like a vacation of smart people, Zen gardens, stone libraries, and so forth. It's different from the suburbia here. We wondered if people staring addictively for hours on their smartphone would ruin their "mind's eye"—inhibiting one's own imagination. He noticed that their device distraction did ruin social gatherings in cafés. I just people-watch and meditate in the café: It reminds me of Arthur the Japanese-American software engineer in my software workplace in Japan; he could just sit on a counter whilst just staring at a wall for a long time. Lately, I've been asking Artificial Intelligence to write ballads and travelogues in Elizabethan English and nostalgic Tagalog. I pick blackberries on the walking way to Tim Hortons café: "¡Moras!" (Blackberries!), I often exclaim in Spanish. An Ecuadorian friend has "Mora" as his surname. He is partly Amerindian, maybe Incan. Today is the 3rd of August of 2025, here on Lulu Island. I went to Kin's Farm Market to buy a bag of 4 lemons, not limes, this time.

It's Lulu Island, 3 August 2025. After supper—green figs tender with sunlight, sweet vinegar from yesterday’s pickled jar, and reheated Alfredo—I sat on the balcony and watched the conifer. Stillness below, a street without cars, without haste. My lime water, iced, caught the light. Michael, the Franco-Danish ufologist, has been in my conversations lately. We speak of inner things: the trance of smart devices, the mind’s eye dwindling. He says cafés aren’t cafés anymore. People forget how to look, how to linger. I tell him of Arthur in Japan—how he'd stare into blank walls like a monk gazing at emptiness. Lately I ask machines to speak like poets, and they do. They mimic Elizabethan verses and the old wistful lilt of Tagalog ballads. I pick blackberries along the path to Tim Hortons. "¡Moras!" I shout like a child. My friend Mora, whose blood flows with Andes mist, would smile. Today, I bought lemons. I meant limes, but lemons are all right. / blackberry morning— / a fig's ghost on my fingers / and the street still sleeps