Quotes About Wine

What fools we are, eh? What fools, sitting here in the sun, singing. And of love, too! I am too old for it and you are too young, and yet we waste our time singing about it. Ah, well, let's have a glass of wine, eh?

Bacchus has drowned more men than Neptune.

Spill not the morning (the quintessence of the day!) in recreations, for sleep is a recreation. Add not, therefore, sauce to sauce. ... Pastime, like wine, is poison in the morning. It is then good husbandry to sow the head, which hath lain fallow all night, with some serious work.

Pleasure for an hour, a bottle of wine; pleasure for a year, marriage; pleasure for a lifetime, a garden.

Diogenes was asked what wine he liked best, and he answered, "Somebody else's."

You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse I made a second marriage in my house; Divorced old barren reason from my bed, And took the daughter of the vine to spouse.

Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain, - Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.

No nation is drunken where wine is cheap; and none sober where the dearness of wine substitutes ardent spirits as the common beverage. It is, in truth, the only antidote to the bane of whiskey.

A certain Samaritan... bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine.

Wine, she serenades me with her first fragrant glass purring plush purple poetry Tra la la la la, tra lee! She dances in vinous metre in a second fermented flute trilling tipsy-turvy tunes Tra la la la la, tra leee! Sip slosh, now she mumbles bottle buzzing on pour three a faint intoxicated harmony Tra la la la la, tra leeee!

What are those purple things?" "Carrots." "Carrots are orange." "And purple." He didn't mention the turnips and cauliflower in the mix. He knew his quarry. "Why would somebody dye a harmless carrot purple?" "They're not dyed, they're natural. Have some more wine," he said, topping off her glass, "and try them out.

How do you know that? You couldn't have finished the book. I skipped to the end. You... He closed his eyes as he drank more wine. Some things are unforgiveable. --Roarke, Dallas, Roarke

What are you drinking?" "Number fifty-four; it's supposed to be a chardonnay." Experimentally, Eve sipped again. "It's at least three steps up from horse piss. I recommend it.

Wine?" Roarke said, lifting the bottle. "No. Jesus." Then she took his glass, and a minute sip. "Pretty good stuff. I'm going to let her string him a little longer. So, want to open another bottle when we get home, and have half-drunk sex?" "I think of nothing else every waking moment." He dropped an arm around her shoulders as they watched Peabody work.

Simmering estrogen." Roarke sipped his wine. "Sounds bloody dangerous

I don't like wine,' says Davíd. 'It's sour.' 'Wine is an acquired taste. When we are young we don't like it, then when we are older we acquire a taste for it.' 'I am never going to acquire a taste for it.' 'That's what you say. Let's wait and see.' Having

Ah, it was a fine night, a warm night, a wine-drinking night, a moony night, and a night to hug your girl and talk and spit and be heavengoing.

Aw I don't wanta go to no such thing, I just wanta drink in alleys.'... But you'll miss all that, just for some old wine.' There's wisdom in wine, goddam it!' I yelled. 'Have a shot!

Ah, it was a fine night, a warm night, a wine-drinking night, a moony night, and a night to hug your girl and talk and spit and be heavengoing. This we did.

Oh my God, sociability is just a big smile and a big smile is nothing but teeth, I wish I could just stay up here and rest and be kind. But somebody brought up some wine and that started me off.

the loneliness…the "inexpressibly delicious sensation of this memory - for as memories are older they're like wine rarer, till if you find a real old memory, one of infancy, not an established often tasted one but a brand new one, it would taste better than the Napoleon brandy Stendhal himself must have stared at…

we pass the fields of Perry and Madrone and where they make wine, and it's all there, all sweet the furrows of brown, with blossoms and one time we took a siding to wait for 98 and I ran out there like the hound of the Baskervilles and got me a few old prunes not longer fitten to eat - the propietor seeing me, trainman running guiltily back to engine with a stolen prune, always I was running, always was running, running to throw switches, running in my sleep and running now - happy.

Have some more wine, Smith, you're not making sense.

Drink, says the White Logic. The Greeks believed that the gods gave them wine so that they might forget the miserableness of existence.