The wine is bottled poetry.

Wine is bottled poetry.

...poesy is the wine of demons...

A bottle of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the world.

If wine is to withdraw its most poetic countenance, the sun of the white dinner-cloth, a deity to be invoked by two or three, all fervent, hushing their talk, degusting tenderly, and storing reminiscences—for a bottle of good wine, like a good act, shines ever in the retrospect—if wine is to desert us, go thy ways, old Jack!

It has become quite a common proverb that in wine there is truth.

What a lovely drink this is, it makes one want to be a poet

Poetry is life distilled. –

Poetry is life distilled.

One night, the soul of wine was singing in the flask:
"O man, dear disinherited! to you I sing
This song full of light and of brotherhood
From my prison of glass with its scarlet wax seals."

Un soir, l'âme du vin chantait dans les bouteilles:
"Homme, vers toi je pousse, ô cher déshérité,
Sous ma prison de verre et mes cires vermeilles."

[I]t is the wine that leads me on,
the wild wine
that sets the wisest man to sing
at the top of his lungs,
laugh like a fool – it drives the
man to dancing... it even
tempts him to blurt out stories
better never told.

Great books are wine,” Twain said, “but my books are water. But everybody drinks water.

I may look like a beer salesman, but I'm a poet.