Best 1015 quotes in «beer quotes» category

You must have seen great changes since you were a young man," said Winston tentatively. The old man's pale blue eyes moved from the darts board to the bar, and from the bar to the door of the Gents ... "The beer was better," he said finally. "And cheaper! When I was a young man, mild beer - wallop we used to call it - was fourpence a pint. That was before the war, of course." "Which war was that?" said Winston. "It's all wars," said the old man vaguely. He took up his glass, and his shoulders straightened again. "'Ere's wishing you the very best of 'ealth!

You're like a cold beer, darling, on a long hot summer night.

You will not be able to stay home, brother./You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out./You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,/Skip out for beer during commercials,/Because the revolution will not be televised.

A beer doesn't have to be difficult to acquire, but damned if that doesn't make everything taste better.

All other beer is ass, and I will not put in the the work to acquire the taste for things that taste like ass.

After a while I got hungry and went to the kitchen. There was nothing to eat. I drank another beer and looked again, and found half a loaf of whole wheat bread behind the beer in the back of the refrigerator...

All the best pubs are built on a hill, so you can slope in and roll out.

American culture enforces such rigid gender roles for male friendships that they are gay unless they materially resemble a beer commercial.

A man has no more right to an opinion for which he cannot account than for a glass of beer for which he cannot pay.

Among the early commercial adopters of wild beer were the Cottonwood Brewery of Boone, North Carolina, and Joe’s Brewery of Champaign, Illinois. Brewer John Isenhour gained a “cult status” for his production of beers with a lambic profile in the mid-1990s using wild yeast and bacteria that he kept active at various stages of the lambic fermentation cycle. John quite successfully marketed the “Lambic” to his rather conservative clientele in this central Illinois college town as “Belgian lemonade.

Always skip to the pub to enjoy your barley and hops

And there was this jerk named Dwayne who kept saying, 'Go on, have a beer. You know you want one. One little beer's not going to hurt ya. You haven't had a drink for three years. You can handle it.'" He looked at me again. "You know?" I nodded. "Caught me when I was vulnerable. You know, when I was still breathing.

Bburke used to, whenever he went to the city to catch a Yankees game, throw his money around to every homeless man on the street, feeling it was the right thing to do; except one time he did that and he got to the stadium and realized he didn’t have enough money for the Bud Light tall boy he always got during the third inning. And in him he felt an unyielding rise of contempt for the himself of only hours ago, that he was something and now is something and that they aren’t the same somethings. But that the change was Barmecidal and it was just him, this moneyless and beerless man in the bleachers. Man made in God’s image, yet some men are homeless and some are beerless, and there must be this big bearded guy miles and miles in the sky who doesn’t have a home and can’t even catch a buzz.

Beer. There’s nothing I don’t like about it. I love the smell, the taste—even the sound of it. The cool thunk of the cap coming off the bottle, the silvery crack of the pop-top can. The cold sweat of the container against the fingers on a sultry afternoon. Every drinker has their poison. I am a beer man. You need to sip a whiskey. And I was never a sipper. I was a guzzler. I loved the feeling of it: to open wide the mouth of the soul and pour a cold one down my throat, with my mind racing ever-forward toward the next. Beer was kind and faithful, like an old friend.

Beer: Aurdwynn's favourite source of sterile, portable calories.

Beer culture is a part of the world of food and drink. It's not just a commodity in cans and bottles, but has a value as an agricultural product with good ingredients.

Beer is a lady without any friends

Beer: All real men drink a specific brand of cheap beer. While I was growing up, my stepfather, who was the manliness man on the planet, drank Schlitz tall boys. There was no room in the fridge, so he just left them on the counter and drank them warm. One day I asked him why he drank Schlitz, and he said, “It’s only 3.1 cents per ounce. Beer is an acquired taste, so you might as well acquire a taste for cheap beer.” That’s some manly shit.

Beer, brewed in cauldrons the size of houses by machines and then served cold. It has no soul. It isn't worthy of the name.

Beer is a good family drink.

Beer is man's drink. Water is God's drink. Wine is everyone's drink. Whiskey is the Devil's soup.

Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. [misquote of a letter about wine, see quotes/831031]

Beer. There’s nothing I don’t like about it. I love the smell, the taste—even the sound of it. The cool thunk of the cap coming off the bottle, the silvery crack of the pop-top can. You need to sip a whiskey. And I was never a sipper. I was a guzzler. I loved the feeling of it: to open wide the mouth of the soul and pour a cold one down my throat, with my mind racing ever-forward toward the next. Beer was kind and faithful, like an old friend. Every drinker has their poison. I am a beer man.

Bier is een kalmeringsmiddel; het verdooft je gedachten en strijkt elke neiging tot opstandigheid glad. Totalitaire staten blussen sociale branden met de bierspuit. Nietzsche haatte dit piskleurige vocht omdat het de 'geest van de logheid' voedde.

Brewing is mentioned rarely in accounts of the Industrial Revolution. Temperance pressures meant it was impolitic for brewers to boast of their achievements and innovations, and few accurate records exist of exactly how it performed in the 19th Century compared to those glamorous, sexy industries like coal mining and steel making.

But no matter how good the beer, how many honors or awards, how innovative Goose Island would ever be again, someone deep in the crowd would always boo.

By drinking, a boy acts like a man. After drinking, many a man acts like a boy.

Do you remember your first sip of beer? Terrible! How could anyone like that stuff? But beer, you reflect, is an acquired taste; one gradually trains oneself—or just comes—to enjoy that flavor. What flavor? The flavor of that first sip? No one could like that flavor! Beer tastes different to the experienced beer drinker. Then beer isn't an acquired tast; one doesn't learn to like that first taste; one gradually comes to experience a different, and likable, taste. Had the first sip tasted that way, you would have liked beer wholeheartedly from the beginning!

Can you still want something you already have? Absolutely. Everyday.

Don't be scared, I'm a vegetarian.

Gareth Miller grabbed the beer first, then the hotdog, because if there’s one thing you don’t want to be caught dead without at these sorts of events it’s beer. The hotdog was strictly for show, a prop, a way of blending in. Burst of static in his right ear: “G-man, you read me? What’s yo’ twenty, dawg?” Gareth departed the concession stand, stopped, looked down at his hands, and tossed the hotdog into the first trash receptacle he saw. Raising his wrist to his mouth, he spoke into the cuff of his long-sleeved tee. “Concession stand, Section B. Over.” Allowing his hand to linger by his chin, he gingerly scratched his cheek as if he had meant to do it all along. The same voice: “Yo, I’m in position. Ready when you is.” Gareth cringed while crossing the wide concourse, checking both directions. The giant hallway was the main drag of a ghost town, its only residents a solitary custodian sweeping debris into a portable waste bin and the concession crew to his rear.

During the first millennium BCE, even the beer-loving Mesopotamians turned their backs on beer, which was dethroned as the most cultured and civilized of drinks, and the age of wine began.

Eugene's got a fake ID, and he actually gets away with using it because he looks like he's thirty-six, thanks to his devotion to tasseled shoes and his ridiculous carpet of chest hair.

Gentlemen, consider: of course the ancient Egyptians made beer cans; where else would they have kept their beer?

Driving down deserted early morning roads. Round and round. Round downtown. Through naked streets. Lips pursed on two litre bottles of beer, but pursuing the lips of freedom's night. Swapping cars. Winding up at karaoke bars or Bolsi- the best place in town. For the food. For the folk. For the service. For the crema de papaya. And for that late night dawn's whiskey coffee.

Farewell, Timothy Riley’s Bar," Lane said softly. "Home of the nickel beer. Snooker emporium. Repository of Bluebird records, three for a dime. We honor you and your passing. Farewell. Farewell, Timothy Riley—and terraplanes and rumbleseats and saddle shoes and Helen Forrest and the Triple-C camps and Andy Hardy and Lum ‘n’ Abner and the world-champion New York Yankees! Rest in peace, you age of innocence—you beautiful, serene, carefree, pre-Pearl Harbor, long summer night. We’ll never see your likes again.

For some reason, possibly known only to my therapist, I decided that Dippy looked so adorable this morning, as she lay gently snoozing on my jacket, that she just had to allow me to cuddle her. This was an error of a magnitude found somewhere between "invade Poland in the winter" and "hold my beer and watch this.

From the book, "Just because you can't see them, doesn't mean they are not there.

From the book - "Just because you can't see them, doesn't mean their are not there!

Hit the bottom and get back up; or hit the bottle and stay down.

He seemed to be having trouble remembering the steps, for he was pumping my arm and counting under his breath (one, two, three), and his breath smelled like the open maws of the pub cellars that grapes on Whitchurch pavements on delivery day. Beer.

He thought to himself now that if ever he went into the brewing business his posters would have written across the top "Bowen's Beer", and then underneath that in the middle a picture of Mrs. Knowles driniking a lot of it and falling about, and then across the bottom in bold or salient lettering the words "Makes You Drunk".

Hartnell's was for drinking. And you could get any drink you wanted, as long as it was beer.

He drank as though his beer was medicine, without pleasure, intent on the result.

Here's the beautiful lady with the beer.

He smacked his lips, tasting the fifth brand, and holding up the glass looked through the amber at the light. "This is a pleasant surprise, Archie. I would not have believed it. That of course is the advantage of being a pessimist; a pessimist gets nothing but pleasant surprises, an optimist nothing but unpleasant. So far, none of this is sewage.

I am designing the future on beer mats, like Churchill and Stalin at Yalta.

I also liked they Belgian brewers are notoriously rebellious and mock Americans’ obsession with categorizing beers by style; I saw them as arrogant expressionists ensnared with creation, not categorization.

If circumstances dictate that your disposable income has to come from eating ramen alongside your vintage Cantillon gueuze, so be it.

I could feel her breasts up against my stomach. I wanted a beer real bad.