Pea

There's a pea in my right nostril.

I like pea pods in my stir fry.

Today the fog is as thick as pea soup.

It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant. I felt very, very small.

It was Mendel's good fortune that the arrival of the pea weevil postdated the completion of the pea part of his research.

In the shadow of the Leaning Tower of Pisa sits the town storyteller, eating a bowl of pea soup. After that he tells some children the fairy tale "The Princess and the Pea".

There was not a weed left in the yard, nor a speck of dust on the floors, nor a single black grain or wild pea in the wheat.

He went to an inn by the roadside and said to the landlady, "Can you give me lodging for the night, me and my pea?" "Well, no," said the landlady, "I haven't got a bed free, but I can take care of your pea for you."

The landlady put the pea upon a dresser and left it there, and a chicken wandering by saw it and jumped up on the dresser and ate it. So when the laziest man called the next day and asked for his pea the landlady couldn't find it.

"You had better give me the chicken." "Why, what—when—how?" stammered the landlady. "The chicken is worth thousands of your pea." "I don't care for that; it has got my pea inside it, and the only way I can get my pea is to have that which holds the pea."