"blackberries" içeren İngilizce örnek cümleler

I love blackberries.
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Tom picked some blackberries to eat.
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Right now, we have blueberries, blackberries, cherries, strawberries, peaches and nectarines.
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While Tom was picking blackberries, the thorny canes scratched his arms and legs several times. "Next time I do this," he told Mary, "I'll be sure to wear long sleeves so that I don't get so many little scratches."
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If I were you, Tom, I'd stop moping about the house, go outside in this lovely autumn sunshine, and pick some blackberries before they go bad.
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I wonder where Tom found these blackberries.
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Blackberries are ripe when they become black.
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Mixed-fruit jam can contain raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, cherries and other fruits.
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What are you doing hiding in the brambles? Picking blackberries?
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What were you doing hiding in the brambles? Picking blackberries?
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Tom is eating blackberries.
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Tom is eating the blackberries that he picked this afternoon.
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Thorny as they are, brambles give blackberries.
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Tom is eating the blackberries he picked this afternoon.
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Ziri ate blackberries.
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I really like blackberries.
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We don't have any more blackberries.
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We have no more blackberries.
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Ziri gave Rima a cup of blackberries.
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Ziri mashed the blackberries.
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Ziri deseeded the blackberries.
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Ziri wanted to deseed the blackberries.
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Ziri put four pounds of blackberries in the pot.
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The blackberries burnt on the bottom of the pot.
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Ziri mashed the blackberries pretty well.
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The blackberries were mashed up.
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The blackberries were floating.
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Ziri continued to scoop out the blackberries.
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Ziri scooped out as much blackberries as he possibly could.
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The blackberries released their juice.
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The blackberries released more juice.
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These blackberries are going to make a lot of jelly.
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Tom saw Mary eating the blackberries that he had picked.
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Gustavo was eating some blackberries that he had picked.
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Tom was picking blackberries.
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Although the brambles are thorny but they produce blackberries.
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Blackberries added a burst of flavor to the dessert.
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They didn't chew those blackberries.
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Do you prefer blackberries or figs?
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Let the brambles grow; the blackberries they produce will be large.
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While picking blackberries from the bushes, I exclaimed, "Blackberries!"

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

In the morning of the 11th of August of 2025, I microwaved the salty sushi-chorizo rice with nori sheets and bitter-melon mung-bean soup. I had also a mug of lukewarm lemon water. I ate on the balcony. Sitting out there near under the potted branching plumeria redeems my lost days of summer. Later, I walked, picking blackberries to munch on the way, to Tim Hortons café, there to have oat-milk iced coffee. Rod stepped in to get breakfast with bottles of orange juice before his and his wife's long camper trip circulating the BC Interior, being back sometime in September. His wife Joanne is open-minded, spiritual, and likes the stars and planets. She's Ukrainian-descent. In the afternoon, sitting and standing on the balcony, feeling the warm breeze, I sip my iced lemon water in a mug. Down below, the neighbour Moli Wong's rose garden reminds me of an Earth scene in Isaac Asimov's book, Pebble in the Sky.