Anglais example sentences with "lime"

And she'll never walk down Lime Street anymore.
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The woman downed the gin and lime that was served in one swallow.
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Those little yogurts may be guiltless, but do they really taste like key lime pie?
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I am coating the wall with lime.
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Have you ever coated a wall with lime?
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Why are you coating this wall with lime?
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It would be nice if you had a wedge of lime I could squeeze into my icewater.
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Cuyuchi is standing near the lime tree.
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Put the lime in the coconut.
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The children are playing under the lime tree.
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Put some dill and lime zest on the salmon.
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Surprisingly, the starving farm cat ate moldy white bread and lime jello.
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The house was an old-fashioned, wide-spread, oak-beamed brick building, with a fine lime-lined avenue leading up to it.
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This year's runaway hit is Nigeria's jersey, mainly lime green with a black-and-white wing motif on the sleeves.
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The plumbing has a water softener to eliminate lime.
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Bird lime accumulates on the boughs, which also seep gum, resin, pitch etcetera.
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Lime and dust flew in clouds from the wall.
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This is a lime tree.
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Has no one started to copy the user guides of bathroom fragrance balls and lime descalers into the English sentences of Tatoeba yet?
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This lime isn't ripe.
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Remember to buy a lime for tequila shots.
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Lemon and lime are citrus fruits.
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We got out of the heat by sitting in the shade of the tall lime trees outside the entrance to the city hall.
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We escaped the heat by sitting in the shade of the tall lime trees outside the entrance to the city hall.
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We avoided the heat by sitting in the shade of the tall lime trees outside the entrance to the city hall.
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Add the juice of half a lime and a teaspoonful of demerara sugar.
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The train arriving at platform 4 is the 14.56 service to Liverpool Lime Street.
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The lime is being mixed with water.
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The lime will be mixed with water.
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Heather thrives in lime-free areas.
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Numerous shops sell historical outfits, handcrafted wares, and replica weaponry, and the food options are a mix of old and new: booths selling turkey legs and mead (honey wine) stand next to booths selling gyros, crepes, and key lime pie on a stick.
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Do add lime, small amounts of wood ashes or crushed eggshells to the compost pile.
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I spread lime on the wall.
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Crafting a perfect Mojito can be a challenge. Achieving the right balance of sweetness, mintiness, and lime is an art.

The hundreds of thousands of football fans visiting Brazil for the World Cup are consuming large quantities of caipirinhas, the national tipple based on muddled lime and the sugarcane-based spirit cachaça.

He held a sword and a lime-wood shield.

It's lime.

There are still several centimetres of snow left on the ground, here on Lulu Island, this 4th of February of 2025. At home with the view of the bluish grey sky through my bedroom window, I reviewed my Chabacano, Philippine Creole Spanish, on my tablet. I perused a printed book about it, yesterday. I would give myself three stars out of five stars total for my Chabacano skills. I can read it quite well. I like that Chabacano has no verbal conjugation, but just has aspect markers, unlike Spanish. I assign the colour beige to Chabacano. I opine that more people should know it. I trudged in the snow going to Tim Hortons, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. In the morning were Earl Grey tea with oat milk and a roast beef Craveable sandwich. (Earl Grey was Captain Picard's favourite.) In the afternoon was an iced coffee with oat milk and cane sugar. Gurpreet the Indian was the vendor. Corpulent Dominic and his daughter Fiel, Filipinos, were sitting near the bay window overlooking the snowy street. I saw in passing Gary the Cantonese in green camouflage Vietnamese military pants, as I exited the washroom and eventually the café itself. For lunch at home, I had spaghetti with Mexican banana chips and a glass mug of hot lime water. Yesterday, Gary and I discussed horseback riding. I tried it, but I could not control the horse well. Gary lived in earlier years near North Vancouver's stables. He preferred motorcycling, as in Vietnam. I said that I was too "klutzy" for such.

"16" reminds me of the 16 Basic Rules of Esperanto Grammar, as today is the 16th of April of 2025. Esperanto is more popular in places like Brazil, China, Indonesia, Korea, Congo-Kinshasa, and others. Around 6 in the morning, I brought my lime green sack with a green lizard illustrated thereon. Therein, I usually carry my Esperanto book, Tra Lando de Indianoj, by Tibor Sekelj, about life in Native Indian territory in the Brazilian Amazon jungle. I read it in the cafés. Firstly, I was at Tim Hortons café here on Lulu Island to drink Earl Grey tea with oat milk and eat a sausage English muffin. Gurpreet the Punjabi woman was my vendor. Then I walked to Starbucks café to drink steamed oat milk in a white ceramic mug. Jam the Filipino was my barista, and Jessica the petite Vietnamese was my vendor. For early lunch at home, I ate chicken and fried spring rolls with noodles and drank hot lime water on my sunny verandah. Later, after 11 in the morning, it was my second walk of the day. I was then at Tim Hortons café to drink another Earl Grey with oat milk. Rajvinder the Punjabi lady who has a similar profile to my cousin Myra in the Philippines was my vendor. Gary the Cantonese fan of Vietnam was in the hall. It was sunny outside, with blue sky, but with a bit of chilly wind.

"Pluvas!" I would say in Esperanto, but "Il pluve!" in Interlingua. Green and Blue: "It's raining!" In my lime green sack with an image of a green lizard on it, I brought two books to Tim Hortons café to read, one Esperanto, one Interlingua: Tra Lando de Indianoj, by Tibor Sekelj, and Contos in Interlingua, by Sven Frank. I was eating Scrambled Eggs with Sausage and Potatoes and drinking an Earl Grey Tea with oat milk. It was after 5 in the morning. The hall was practically empty. Outside the bay windows were wet streets. Today's the 17th of May of 2025.

It's the 18th of May of 2025. After 20:00, I headed walking to Tim Hortons café to enjoy an Orange Pekoe Tea with oat milk. In my lime green sack with a green lizard image thereon, I brought two books to the café to read, one Esperanto, one Interlingua: Tra Lando de Indianoj, by Tibor Sekelj, and Contos in Interlingua, by Sven Frank. Green and Blue, they are. The Esperanto book is a tale about life in the jungles of Red Indians in Brazil. The Interlingua book is a collection of children's tales. It was still before sunset. Arriving home, I saw that family Filipino friends Perlita and Glenn were talking to Mama in the dining room. They brought a fruit tray that includes red watermelon chunks, grape bunches, orange slices, etc. They brought also Philippine spaghetti and Philippine pancit noodles. We talked about rich chains like Tim Hortons, 7-Eleven, A&W, etc. and how so high the rental is for retail stores on Lulu Island, so that two 7-Eleven stores have closed in our neighbourhood; they stood for over 40 years!

It's sunny today, the 2nd of June of 2025. I'm wearing my hooded red, grey, and black cardigan. I carry a lime green sack with a lizard drawing thereon. I wear a green touque. (I'm a long-time Esperantist.) In the morning and in the afternoon, I went walking to Tim Hortons café to have some varied drinks and a Crispy Chicken Craveable Sandwich. Sometimes, I crave absent things like baklava, cannoli, barfi, halva, and others too sweet and exotic. In the morning also was my 24th visit this spring to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. 'Twas practically empty in the worship hall. There are many Filipinos in this parish. The grand Empress Tree, called "Kiri" by Japanese, near Bowcock Road, has lost most of its purple blooming glory by now. The species originates in East Asia, and is here on Lulu Island. It looks like the Jacaranda, also purple-bloomed, in South America. Incidentally, as a linguistic note, maybe for many, Japanese Katakana would suffice for their linguistic curiosity, as it does really satisfy the graphic dimension of language learning. Katakana words are like "eye candy."

It's before dawn, this 3rd of August of 2025, here on Lulu Island. I just ate a fig and am drinking hot lime water in the lamp-illumined living room. Yesterday, I saw a stocky Filipino full of Cambodian tattoos, as he told me that he stayed 4 years in Cambodia. He asked for just a small tattoo from the tattoo lady artist, but she then tattooed his whole body. At first, I thought of Tibetan tattoos, but they were Cambodian. The day before yesterday was exceptionally a day of brown Adonises at Tim Hortons café: one brown full of tattoos in the morning and in the afternoon another who spoke in a language which I thought was Maltese—at least some language that was Arabic mixed with something. In recent days, I have been asking Artificial Intelligence to write Shakespearean plays in Elizabethan English—remarkable and fascinating artwork for a machine!

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

I like how the violets and garnets combine with the yellows, oranges and lime greens.