Best 1268 quotes in «wine quotes» category

I shall drink no wine before its time. Okay, it’s time.

Is it that we pretend to a reformation? Truly, no: but it may be we are more addicted to Venus than our fathers were. They are two exercises that thwart and hinder one another in their vigor. Lechery weakens our stomach on the one side; and on the other sobriety renders us more spruce and amorous for the exercise of love.

I started with a wedge of triple-cream cheese because that seemed like a rich and elegant base that would need little embellishment. I cut a large slice of cheese and stripped off the skin, leaving only the voluptuous center, which I set into a clean bowl. I had noticed that wine went into the best dishes, so I added enough claret to thin the cheese to a mixable consistency. As I beat it together, I watched the pure white turn a murky shade of rose, and the sharp smell of wine overpowered the milky fragrance of cheese. Although such a dramatic change in color and aroma was unexpected, I decided it was not a fatal blow to the plan. The chef had once said that the cornerstones of culinary art were butter and garlic, so I cheerfully whipped in a knob of softened butter and pressed a large clove of garlic. I whisked it all until it was smooth, tested it with a fingertip, and judged it to be not bad. But not bad wasn't good enough for a grand gesture. I stood before the brick oven and pondered what might elevate this concoction from an oddly flavored cheese to something that would make the chef raise his eyebrows with appreciation. The brick oven reminded me of Enrico, who often bragged that his lightly sweetened breads and confections were everyone's favorite. He once said, "Meals are only an excuse to get to the dessert." I wasn't sure that was true, but I had noticed that people usually greeted the dessert course with smiles, even though they had already eaten their fill. Confections always found favor, and so I poured a golden stream of honey into my mélange. After it was well blended, it was rather pretty- smooth and thick, luscious looking, like pudding or custard.

I suffer from CLAUSTROPHOBIA, a fear of closed spaces.For example, I’m petrified that the WINE store will be closed before I have time to get there!!!

The Vintner's Guide to Precisely Categorizing the Wines of France mentioned all sorts of incredibly nuanced aromas in very expensive wine: slate, bark, cherries, strange herbs, all of which she had to imagine, since cidre and local vin ordinaire were all they had in the village.

I think I'm like wine. The older I get, the better I get.

It is better to die of drink then to die of thirst.

... it is not the taste considered in itself, that we hold to our lips, and you can no more understand the virtues of a wine through a blind tasting than you could understand the virtues of a woman through a blindfold kiss.

It is pure id. Freud would not approve. He regarded the obvious with the same contempt most of us reserve for wine spritzers.

It’s an unfair life you fail a thousand times and win just once

It seems as though the voice of man Will never sound in this place, But only wind from age of stone Is knocking on black gates. It seems to me that I alone Have kept good health under this sky, Because of this, that first I sought To drink the deadly wine. Parting, Evening and slanting, Downward goes my way. Yesterday in love still, "Don't forget" you prayed. Now there's only shepherds' Cry, and glancing winds, And the worried cedars Stand by clear springs.

It was a quiet taunt...a poisoned glass of wine, meant to intoxicate and exsanguinate.

It was 2:00 p.m., too early for wine but not for chocolate.

Love is like wine, drink it as you rhyme.

It was baking hot in the square when we came out after lunch with our bags and the rod-case to go to Burguete. People were on top of the bus, and others were climbing up a ladder. Bill went up and Robert sat beside Bill to save a place for me, and I went back in the hotel to get a couple of bottles of wine to take with us. When I came out the bus was crowded. Men and women were sitting on all the baggage and boxes on top, and the women all had their fans going in the sun. It certainly was hot. Robert climbed down and fitted into the place he had saved on the one wooden seat that ran across the top. Robert Cohn stood in the shade of the arcade waiting for us to start. A Basque with a big leather wine-bag in his lap lay across the top of the bus in front of our seat, leaning back against our legs. He offered the wine-skin to Bill and to me, and when I tipped it up to drink he imitated the sound of a klaxon motor-horn so well and so suddenly that spilled some of the wine, and everybody laughed. He apologized and made me take another drink. He made the klaxon again a little later, and it fooled me the second time. He was very good at it. The Basques liked it. The man next to Bill was talking to him in Spanish and Bill was not getting it, so he offered the man one of the bottles of wine. The man waved it away. He said it was too hot and he had drunk too much at lunch. When Bill offered the bottle the second time he took a long drink, and then the bottle went all over that part of the bus. Every one took a drink very politely, and then they made us cork it up and put it away. They all wanted us to drink from their leather wine-bottles. They were peasants going up into the hills.

Love is like wine, it gets better everyday.

Love is more potent than wine; one drop can intoxicate you for a lifetime.

Maybe Angelo was right. Maybe there was something. I still suspected it was the wine.

Making wine and drinking wine is not new to African Americans and others in the Diaspora. South Africa has a three-century history in growing, harvesting and distilling grapes as wine. The entire continent of Africa has a history in wine-making. In this country, slaves cultivated the vineyards owned by Thomas Jefferson and other vintners.

Millions of deaths would not have happened if it weren’t for the consumption of alcohol. The same can be said about millions of births.

Mixing old wine with new wine is stupidity, but mixing old wisdom with new wisdom is maturity.

Mr. Emerson watched, almost breathless, as she swirled the wine in her glass expertly, then lifted it so that she could examine it more closely in the candlelight. She brought the glass to her nose, closed her eyes, and sniffed. Then she placed the glass to her plump lips and tasted the wine, holding it in her mouth for a while before swallowing. She opened her eyes, smiled even more widely, and thanked Antonio for his precious gift.

Most people whom you may view as wine experts are usually just good at one thing: winemakers are good at making wine, sommeliers at talking about it, and wine journalists at drinking it for free.

Most of the wine in the world sells for two dollars a bottle. Quite a bit sells for four dollars to five dollars a bottle, and there are many that sell for ten dollars a bottle. Then you have wines that sell for three hundred dollars a bottle. What the world needs is a beer that's worth five dollars a bottle. I think that would be great. If all beer prices are forced down to the level of Busch Bavarian, none of us will be there.

- Mr. Alakbarov, how much is the rent for this fantastic apartment? - Madam, this is the red wine aisle of the grocery store.

Murder and a glass of wine: priceless

My love, suddenly your hip is the curve of the wineglass filled to the brim, your breast is the cluster, your hair the light of alcohol, your nipples, the grapes your navel pure seal stamped on your barrel of a belly, and your love the cascade of unquenchable wine, the brightness that falls on my senses, the earthen splendor of life.

Nothing with this woman was meant to be rushed. She was like a fine wine that only improved with age and time. Time she hadn’t been given growing up, but I’d waited close to a year. I could wait some more.

Never mind sipping mulled wine from a paper cup, I wanted to dunk my entire head in the punch bowl.

My path is full of petals–I have swept it for no others. My thatch gate has been closed–but opens now for you. It’s a long way to the market, I can offer you little– Yet here in my cottage there is old wine for our cups.

No answer I could provide to that question could possibly serve my own future interests." Sarek straightened his sleeve and focused on her. "More wine, Wife?

No old road leads to new destinations! Change begins when one realizes that it is unwise to pour a new wine into an old wine skin. If you change your mind, you have to change your actions too!

Not only too much wine makes you drunk, but too much beauty too!

One sip of this wine and you will go mad with drunkenness. You will drop your masks and tear your clothes — destroying everything that separates you from the Lover. Once you taste the fruit of this vine, you will be kicked out of the city of yourself. You will forget the world. You will forget yourself. I tell you: you will become a madman who wanders the streets looking for the Lover once you drink this Wine of Love.

Occasionally I have a glass of red wine. I don't consider it an alcoholic drink. I consider it a holy drink, something that can also be used as a curative.

Of course, my Christmas is (so much more) gorgeous and romantic (than Germany's)!! And unlike the rest of the world, we leave wine behind for Santa Claus!" "So Santa-san is delivering gifts to children while driving under the influence . . . ?

One of the questions asked by al-Balkhi, and often repeated to this day, is this: Why do the children of Israel continue to suffer? My grandmother Dodo thought it was because the goyim were jealous. The seder for Passover (which is a shame-faced simulacrum of a Hellenic question-and-answer session, even including the wine) tells the children that it's one of those things that happens to every Jewish generation. After the Shoah or Endlösung or Holocaust, many rabbis tried to tell the survivors that the immolation had been a punishment for 'exile,' or for insufficient attention to the Covenant. This explanation was something of a flop with those whose parents or children had been the raw material for the 'proof,' so for a time the professional interpreters of god's will went decently quiet. This interval of ambivalence lasted until the war of 1967, when it was announced that the divine purpose could be discerned after all. How wrong, how foolish, to have announced its discovery prematurely! The exile and the Shoah could now both be understood, as part of a heavenly if somewhat roundabout scheme to recover the Western Wall in Jerusalem and other pieces of biblically mandated real estate. I regard it as a matter of self-respect to spit in public on rationalizations of this kind. (They are almost as repellent, in their combination of arrogance, masochism, and affected false modesty, as Edith Stein's 'offer' of her life to expiate the regrettable unbelief in Jesus of her former fellow Jews.) The sage Jews are those who have put religion behind them and become in so many societies the leaven of the secular and the atheist.

One of life's gifts is that each of us, no matter how tired and downtrodden, finds reasons for thankfulness: for the crops carried in from the fields and the grapes from the vineyard.

One of the cafés had that brilliant idea of putting up a slogan: 'the best protection against infection is a good bottle of wine', which confirmed an already prevalent opinion that alcohol is a safeguard against infectious disease. Every night, towards 2 a.m., quite a number of drunk men, ejected from the cafés , staggered down the streets, vociferating optimism.

One should not chug an entire glass of wine at an elegant dinner party. I start hacking and coughing, having practically water-boarded myself out of sheer humiliation.

She kneeled down, opened the wine fridge, and scanned the shelves, filled with a variety of white wines. Sam began to pull each bottle out and read the labels; all of the wines were products of the dozens of vineyards that dotted northern Michigan, including the two peninsulas that ran north from Traverse City into Grand Traverse Bay. There was a wealth of whites- chardonnays, sauvignon blancs, Rieslings, rosés, and dessert wines. All of these were produced within a few miles of here, Sam thought, a feeling of pride filling her soul. Sam pulled out a pinot gris and stood. A few bottles of red gleamed in the fading day's light: a cab franc, a pinot noir, a merlot. Robust reds were a bit harder to come by in northern Michigan because of the weather and growing season, but Sam was happy to see such a selection. Sam had had the pleasure of meeting famed Italian chef Mario Batali at culinary school, and the two had bonded over Michigan. Batali owned a summer home in Northport, not far from Suttons Bay, and he had been influential early on in touting Michigan's summer produce and fruit, fresh fish, and local farms and wineries. When someone in class had mocked Michigan wines, saying they believed it was too cold to grow grapes, Batali had pointedly reminded them that Michigan was on the forty-fifth parallel, just like Bordeaux, Burgundy, and Alsace. Sam had then added that Lake Michigan acted like a big blanket or air conditioner along the state's coastline, and the effect created perfect temperatures and growing conditions for grapes and, of course, apples, cherries, asparagus, and so much more. Batali had winked at her, and Sam had purchased a pair of orange Crocs not long after in his honor.

Ô, wine!, the truth-serum so potent that all those who wish to live happy lives should abstain from drinking it entirely!... except of course when they are alone.

People should have fun with wine. A bottle should sit on your dinner table like all of the other condiments.

Protects your body's cells, keeping them young and strong, Drink red wine

Religion is a non-alcoholic man's alcohol. Alcohol is a non-religious man's religion.

Saying goodbye to a lover is like giving them the last wine drop in a glass about to break.

On the surface, I seem to be glad of new people; But doomed to leave old friends behind me, I cry out from my heart for Shin-Fêng wine To melt away my thousand woes.

Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.

Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent. When she came to my bed and begged me with sighs not to tempt her towards passion nor actions unwise, I told her I’d spare her and kissed her closed eyes, then unbraided her body of its clothing disguise. While our bodies were nude bathed in candlelight fine I devoured her mouth, tender lips divine; and I drank through her thighs her feminine wine. Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.

O vinho ela aceita. Também aceita a lagosta, fala lagostim. Mas precisa lembrar a estatística das criancinhas morrendo de fome no Nordeste, esse assunto de Nordeste às vezes exorbita.