When I get older losing my hair many years from now, Will you still be sending me a Valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four?
For me the ideal date would be to drink wine in the backyard under the stars, listen to music and just talk. Then we'd eat steak and, later, dessert. If all went as planned, we'd save some of the dessert and play with it while making out.
Cheese, wine, and a friend must be old to be good.
Wine intoxicates for a time, but the end is bitterness.
Well enough. I won't ask you if your love is true or any of that rot—it's not my place to judge. After all, I'm a naked woman chained to a wall; I've no business questioning the lifestyles of wine-makers or anyone else.
Wine brings to light the hidden secrets of the soul, gives being to our hopes, bids the coward flight, drives dull care away, and teaches new means for the accomplishment of our wishes.
If God forbade drinking, would He have made wine so good?
Pinot noir is the ultimate wine to have at the table. It's a white wine masquerading as red. . . [while] chardonnay is a red masquerading as a white.
If you say, "Would there were no wine" because of the drunkards, then you must say, going on by degrees, "Would there were no steel," because of the murderers, "Would there were no night," because of the thieves, "Would there were no light," because of the informers, and "Would there were no women," because of adultery.
Youth is an intoxication without wine, someone says. Life is an intoxication. The only sober man is the melancholiac, who, disenchanted, looks at life, sees it as it really is, and cuts his throat. If this be so, I want to be very drunk. The great thing is to live, to clutch at our existence and race away with it in some great and enthralling pursuit. Above all, I must beware of all ultimate questions- they are too maddeningly unanswerable- let me eschew philosophy and burn Omar.
The portion of some is to have their afflictions by drops, now one drop and then another; but the dregs of the cup, the wine of astonishment, like a sweeping rain that leaveth no food, did the Lord prepare to be my portion.
Thou wine art the friend of the friendless, though a foe to all.
Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
As in the case of wines that improve with age, the oldest friendships ought to be the most delightful.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because I don't have to do anything except bring wine and go to my sister's all day and go to the movies with the family. So, actually, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, but there's not much comedy material on Thanksgiving. Melatonin really isn't that funny.
The giving of riches and honors to a wicked man is like giving strong wine to him that hath a fever.
If a man called Christmas Day a mere hypocritical excuse for drunkenness and gluttony, that would be false, but it would have a fact hidden in it somewhere. But when Bernard Shaw says the Christmas Day is only a conspiracy kept up by poulterers and wine merchants from strictly business motives, then he says something which is not so much false as startling and arrestingly foolish. He might as well say that the two sexes were invented by jewellers who wanted to sell wedding rings.
And now it goes as it goes and where it ends is Fate. And neither by singeing flesh nor tipping cups of wine nor shedding burning tears can you enchant away the rigid Fury.
Being vintage like a fine wine Should make you proud of being old And being mature like a cheese Certainly explains the mould! Fester on undaunted into your 7th decade
Hemingway is great in that alone of living writers he has saturated his work with the memory of physical pleasure, with sunshine and salt water, with food, wine and making love and the remorse which is the shadow of that sun.