Best 55 quotes in «whiskey quotes» category

I drink this [whiskey glass] and I'm just another JBL? you don't get it, I'm not like you. I'm not JBL, I'm CM Punk! Sometimes it's what you don't do that makes you who you are.

It is true that whisky improves with age. The older I get, the more I like it.

I take the juice of two bottles of whisky.

If you take a scotch whiskey and distill out the alcohol, what is left has an amazing taste to it and can be used as a flavoring for a dessert.

I was glad to see other blues guitarists like Albert King have crossover successes like me. We played in the same places like the Whisky and the Filmore. When Albert made his guitar cry, he could cut you so deep!

Keep close count of your nickels and dimes, stay away from whiskey, and never concede a putt.

Rain makes corn, corn makes whiskey.

The giant imaginary bottle of whiskey is with me.

New York: Prison towers and modern posters for soap and whiskey. Pittsburgh: Abandon it.

There is no such thing as a bad whisky. Some whiskies just happen to be better than others.

This is why it is good to remember: if you want to get high, don’t drink whiskey; read Shakespeare, Tennyson, Keats, Neruda, Hopkins, Millay, Whitman, aloud and let your body sing.

To a writer, an open browser tab is like a glass of whiskey. 1 or 2 can help the work. Too many ensures that nothing gets done.

Religion is like an ice cold whiskey on a hot day.

Vodka is a wonderful drink. You can drink so much of it without being as hung over as you would if you were drinking one of the brown liquors - the whiskeys and such. It's a great drink to go with appetizers.

Whiskey don't make liars it just makes fools.

We come late, if at all, to wine and philosophy: whiskey and action are easier.

Wild Turkey whiskey and Philip Morris cigarettes are essential to the maintenance of human life!

Alan Campbell opened one eye. From somewhere in remote distances, muffled beyond sight or sound, his soul crawled back painfully, through subterranean corridors, up into his body again. Toward the last it moved to a cacophony of hammers and lights. Then he was awake. The first eye was bad enough. But, when he opened his second eye, such as rush of anguish flowed through his brain that he hastily closed them again.

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

Com maior percepção do caráter inglês, servi uma forte dose de uísque com soda e coloquei-a na frente do desditado inspetor.

Beneath the moons' shadowscape, wisdom, women, whiskey and you are a dangerous and provocative combination...

The privileged classes can afford psychoanalysis and whiskey. Whereas all we get is sermons and sour wine. This is manifestly unfair. I protest, silently.

Hemingway is overrated, Twain is even more lost at sea, And all truths point to the mouth of a woman, Where both her whispers and her screams, Are born. Pour another glass, Beer, wine, whiskey, I don't care, So long as its wisdom is sharp, And it tells lies instead of promises.

Her eyes were the color of whiskey and grace. Moments with her always felt like getting drunk on Sundays.

He smelled of cigarettes and whiskey, the smell of Cambridge and youth.

He entered the bar at the far end of the boulevard. He was feeling melancholic and a tad morose for no particular reason. The bar was already bustling with a few people. But he was all alone. He was feeling the bouts of loneliness all over again. He knew he had to forget her. There was nothing else that he could do. The bartender looked at him sitting all alone on one corner of the bar. And asked gently with a smile"Monsieur what shal I get for you?" He smiled back and said "Whiskey on the rocks!

I'd much rather be someone's shot of whiskey than everyone's cup of tea.

I've always felt that distant train whistles heard in the dead of night are the universe's way of letting us know the best days are neither ahead nor behind us...they're happening right now, cradled in the palms of our hands. But that doesn't change the fact that the whiskey, weed, and romance eventually runs out and the night will soon turn to day.

Rage and hurt coalesce into a stone in my chest and as I take another gulp of my father's prized whiskey, I hear myself say, "Tell me about your plan.

His desire for this to be a joke was quickly replaced by a desire for whiskey.

Old but contented, the face of a man who had sipped life’s vinegar and found it, by and large, to be mostly whiskey, and good whiskey at that.

The cat arrived with a bottle of Scotch.

The only thing we chase our shots with are high-fives.

Lovecraft says he knows about tentacles but that motherfucker never bedded a girl from West Chester and survived She was a toothache that one and she tasted like crack the best thing about her was if I was ever hungry I could always make a meal out of whatever was making rest at the corners of her mouth I can't remember her name as is the case with most of them then again I can't remember how many donuts I ate this morning or how many beers I'll drink tonight, tomorrow

The second whiskey is always my favorite. From the third on, it no longer has any taste. It's just something to pour into your stomach.

There is indeed one person who can help solve “writer’s block”. His name is Mr Johnnie Walker.

The whiskey kicked like a mugger.

The whiskey was a good start. I got the idea from Dylan Thomas. He's this poet who drank twenty-one straight whiskeys at the White Horse Tavern in New York and then died on the spot from alcohol poisoning. I've always wanted to hear the bartender's side of the story. What was it like watching this guy drink himself out of here? How did it feel handing him number twenty-one and watching his face crumple up before the fall of the stool? And did he already have number twenty-two poured, waiting for this big fat tip, and then have to drink it himself after whoever came took the body away?

To be or not to be, fucked up on whiskey, that is the question.

to ask them to legalize pot is something like asking them to put butter on the handcuffs before they place them on you, something else is hurting you - that's why you need pot or whiskey, or whips and rubber suits, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can't think, or madhouses or mechanical cunts or 162 baseball games in a season. or vietnam or israel or the fear of spiders. your love washing her yellow false teeth in the sink before you screw.

When it happens and it hits hard, we decide certain things, and realize there's truth in all those dark, lonely days" He had an instantaneous look about him, a glimmer and a glint over those eyes, he knew how the world worked, and took pleasure in its wickedness. He would give a dime or two to those sitting on the street, he would tell them things like: "It won't get any better," and "Might as well use this to buy your next fix," and finally "It's better to die high than to live sober," His suit was pressed nicely, with care and respect, like the kind a corpse wears, he'd say that was his way of honoring the dead, of always being ready for the oncoming train, I liked him, he never wore a fake smile and he was always ready to tell a story about how and when "We all wake up alone," he said once, "Oftentimes even when sleeping next to someone, we wake up before them and they are still asleep and suddenly we are awake, and alone." I didn't see him for a few days, a few days later it felt like it'd been weeks, those weeks drifted apart from one another, like leaves on a pond's surface, and became like months. And then I saw him and I asked him where he'd been, he said, "I woke up alone one day, just like any other, and I decided I didn't like it anymore.

To her own heart, which was shaped exactly like a valentine, there came a winglike palpitation, a delicate exigency, and all the fragrance of all the flowery springtime love affairs that ever were seemed waiting for them in the whisky bottle. To mingle their pain their handshake had promised them, was to produce a separate entity, like a child that could shift for itself, and they scrambled hastily toward this profound and pastoral experience.

While I can’t walk on water, I can certainly wobble on whisky.

Whisky nosers, as they called themselves, eschewed what they saw as the pretentiousness of wine vocabulary. While oenophiles resorted to recondite adjectives, whisky nosers spoke the language of everyday life, detecting hints of stale seaweed, or even diesel fuel.

Wszystko zgodnie z sugestiami mojej mamy. W następnym tygodniu zaczynam zapisywać rozmaite szczegóły. [...] Najlepsi ludzie piją whiskey, mówi.

A woman warm and willing is what I'm looking for, cause the whiskey ain't working anymore.

The medicine is in the eye of the beholder and right now you be-holding a big ass glass of it. So, shut up and drink your whiskey.

With more insight into the English character, I poured out a stiff whisky and soda and placed it in front of the gloomy inspector.

Ya got cigarettes?” she asks. “Yes,” I say, “I got cigarettes.” “Matches?” she asks. “Enough to burn Rome.” “Whiskey?” “Enough whiskey for a Mississippi River of pain.” “You drunk?” “Not yet.

You drink your whiskey, I’ll drink my wine. Later when we’re fevered and tipsy we’ll make savage love divine. Until then, let’s swim in the warm, opal sea of each other. Crash a few innocent waves, skinny dip, laugh and get lost in those blood-pumping hearts, and for a time forget all our broken parts.