Quotes About Whiskey

The "captain" says that when I came to engage passage in the Quaker City I "seemed to be full of whiskey, or something," and filled his office with the "fumes of bad whiskey" . . . [F]or a ceaseless, tireless, forty-year public advocate of total abstinence the "captain" is a mighty good judge of whiskey at second-hand.28

So along with the whiskey and perfume and smoke, she often exuded faint undertones of hay, dust, and the fragrance of horse, which once you smell it you always miss it. Humans were meant to live with the horse.

Our love is a hurting delicacy, an old killer whiskey, a curse, and too beautiful for words.

The JD wasn't going down smooth at all. Not like good stuff should. Instead of a warm slow seeping, it seemed to be kicking its way down his throat. And the buzz felt wrong; it was coming too fast, after only a few shots, and it wasn't rounding out any of the sharp edges. It was somehow leaving everything ragged.

Hey! Shouts Camel. There ain't no woman in the world worth two bottles of whiskey!

All right. Let's give you something to tell your grandkids about. Or great-grandkids. Or great-great-grandkids. I snort with glee, delirious with excitement. Charlie winks and pours me another finger's worth of whiskey. Then, on second thought, he tips the bottle again. I reach out and grab its neck. Better not, I say. Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.

I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling.

I'm glad has promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-even the dogs are howling.

That story is proof of the theorem that then as today in Chicago, the mysterious equation of whiskey plus music equals what can only be called happiness.

another pull on the Bushmills. Shrugged. "I guess they figured

A taste of whiskey had changed her mood, as a touch of acid will change the color of blue litmus paper.

Moonshiners put more time, energy, thought, and love into their cars than any racer ever will. Lose on the track, and you go home. Lose with a load of whiskey, and you go to jail.

It was so quiet, a reservation kind of quiet, where you can hear somebody drinking whiskey on the rocks three miles away.

He asked me to pour him some whiskey and announced flatly his intention to nap.

with a rush of feeling he felt that this must be happiness. As soon as the thought came to him, he fought it back, blaming the whiskey. The very idea was as dangerous as presumptive speech: happiness could not be sought or worried into being, or even fully grasped; it should be allowed its own slow pace so it passes unnoticed, if it ever comes at all.

with a rush of feeling he felt that this must be happiness. As soon as the thought came to him, he fought it back, blaming the whiskey. The very idea was as dangerous as presumptive speech: happiness could not be sought or worried into being, or even fully grasped; it should be allowed its own slow pace so that it passes unnoticed, if it ever comes at all.

I nudged Whiskey down the far side of the rise, and came among them like Death on my pale horse.

I turned back so he would see me smile through the shadows, and Whiskey bore me into the trees before I so much as shifted my weight.

The patchwork bard's cloak he swung around his shoulders smelled of smoke and sweet resin and strong whiskey, so every time he inhalted it was though the Devil's hand traced his spine.

Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough.

He had never found that more than five whiskeys and soda were beneficial to law-practice.

There is a god somewhere that is angry because we're combining stuff like Cutty Sark with fifty-year-old Laphroaig

Her mouth was a red word of worship. I remember that. Red like she'd lipsticked it with blood. I stared at the petaling of her lips, the way she pursed them, incisors briefly lettering the plush flesh. Unlike the rest of them, she could sing: big operatic notes. A little rough along the higher registers, sure, but her voice when it plunged was smoky as the belly of an old whiskey cask.

I had a job for a year, working in a high-quality whiskey-and-wine shop.