Some people are guilty when they win. Some people, "Ah, you know, it's so unfortunate, some people had to lose." I mean, even some modern-day competitors, athletes have a guilt complex about winning. They think it isn't fair. That's not how you win. You don't feel guilty when you wine, and you don't feel sorry for anybody about it.
But work a year and sleep an hour, and sleep a night and sing a day, And take a little wine and love, and when you feel religious—pray.
Tell Youth to play with Wine and Love and never bear away the scars! I may as well tilt up the sky and yet try not to spill the stars.
I collect art, and I drink wine... things that I like that I had never been exposed to. But I never said, 'I'm going to buy art to impress this crowd.' That's just ridiculous to me. I don't live my life like that, because how could you be happy with yourself?
Shall we not, then, lay down a law, in the first place, that boys shall abstain altogether from wine till their eighteenth year, thereby teaching that it is wrong to add fire to fire, as through a funnel, pouring it into their body and soul before they proceed to the labor of life, thus exercising a caution as to the maddening habits of youth.
Nothing more excellent or valuable than wine was every granted by the gods to man.
Boys should abstain from all use of wine until their eighteenth year, for it is wrong to add fire to fire.
There is truth in wine and children
When a man drinks wine at dinner, he begins to be better pleased with himself.
And what do you say of lovers of wine... they are glad of any pretext of drinking any wine
What is better adapted than the festive use of wine in the first place to test and in the second place to train the character of a man, if care be taken in the use of it? What is there cheaper or more innocent?
Wine fills the heart with courage.
To begin with the wine jar in learning the potter's art.
It's all about the blanket. Blanket, pillow, and red wine. You should always be asleep on a plane.
I have this beautiful antique silver wine decanter that I bought at an auction. I always pour wine from that.
This land, although not my native land, Will be remembered forever. And the sea's lightly iced, Unsalty water. The sand on the bottom is whiter than chalk, The air is heady, like wine, And the rosy body of the pines Is naked in the sunset hour. And the sunset itself on such waves of ether That I just can't comprehend Whether it is the end of the day, the end of the world, Or the mystery of mysteries in me again.
A land not mine, still forever memorable, the waters of its ocean chill and fresh. Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk, and the air drunk, like wine, late sun lays bare the rosy limbs of the pinetrees. Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.
The English have a miraculous power of turning wine into water.
I threw the pearl of my soul into a cup of wine. I went down the primrose path to the sound of flutes. I lived on honeycomb.
"Why is it that at a bachelor's establishment the servants invariably drink the champagne? I ask merely for information." "I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir. I have often observed that in married households the champagne is rarely of a first-rate brand." "Good Heavens! Is marriage so demoralizing as that?" "I believe it is a very pleasant state, sir. I have had very little experience of it myself up to the present. I have only been married once. That was in consequence of a misunderstanding between myself and a young person."
And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire set In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.
Now and then it is a joy to have one's table red with wine and roses.
It is a very poor consolation to be told that the man who has given one a bad dinner, or poor wine, is irreproachable in private life. Even the cardinal virtues cannot atone for half-cold entrees.
Alas, I am dying beyond my means.
The camera, you know, will never capture you. Photography, in my experience, has the miraculous power of transferring wine into water.
Pleasure without Champagne is purely artificial.
To the courtiers flushed with wine, life was pleasure, and pleasure life.
I'm still going to enjoy my life off the pitch and I don't think that has interfered with my life on it. In still playing, my body does not allow me to do some of the stuff I did before. The reality is I can't do the two. But I will still go out for a meal and a glass of wine and smoke a cigarette if I feel like it.
But I have an African or Indian approach to what I find. I like to make use of everything. I can't bear to throw things away - a nice wine bottle, a nice box. Sometimes I feel like a wizard in Toytown, transforming a bunch of carrots into pomegranates.
I like the idea of the book being wiser than the person who wrote it. None of the novels I've written are direct transcriptions of me blathering over dinner with a glass of wine in my hand. I don't hold any illusion of those conversations being of particular value. The books, though, are - I hope - bigger than my opinions, investigations that go beyond my own intellect or wit.