A Quote by Jonathan Swift

I love white Portugal wine better than claret, champagne, or burgundy. I have a sad vulgar appetite. — © Jonathan Swift
I love white Portugal wine better than claret, champagne, or burgundy. I have a sad vulgar appetite.
I like white wine when it's young and vigorous. I don't think you should cellar white wine at all, unless it's white Burgundy, and definitely not nonvintage Champagne.
It’s too much of a drinking culture, everything tastes better with a drink. Like, watch TV: glass of wine. Cooking dinner: glass of champagne. White wine vinegar hasn’t got white wine in it. Has it?
A carbonated wine foisted upon Americans (who else would drink it?) by winery ad agencies as a way of getting rid of inferior champagne by mixing it with inferior burgundy.
Depends on the evening. A good red wine is nice in cold weather. A Claret or a Rioja. I've got a good gin we make from damson plums. And you can't beat a glass of champagne every now and again.
If Claret is the king of natural wines, Burgundy is the queen.
Burgundy was the winiest wine, the central, essential, and typical wine, the soul and greatest common measure of all the kindly wines of the earth.
Don't you hate people who drink white wine? I mean, my dear, every alcoholic in town is getting falling-down drunk on white wine. They think they aren't drunks because they only drink wine. Never, never trust anyone who asks for white wine. It means they're phonies.
I liked wine, both red and white, and especially Champagne; and on very special occasions I could even drink a small glass of brandy.
For my prom, I wore a white suit with a burgundy shirt, tie and cummerbund, along with white shoes, a white trilby and a cane. I was extra fly that day.
I love champagne, but I don't have champagne every night. If I go out, and I want to have a drink, I'll have a glass of champagne.
Well, you know, when you go into a restaurant, one of the scariest things is the wine list, so whenever I'm really feeling intimidated, I'll just pick a wine type, like a Chianti or Brunello or a Burgundy, and I'll pick a year that's missing and ask for that one.
He who aspires to be a serious wine drinker must drink claret.
Much is written about wine ... of its makers, its nuances, its myths. The white hot center of each wine’s mystery lies in humble corners of the world, where growers pour their intention, their character and their love of labor into each wine.
But the most common species of love is that which first arises from beauty, and afterwards diffuses itself into kindness and into the bodily appetite. Kindness or esteem, and the appetite to generation, are too remote to unite easily together. The one is, perhaps, the most refined passion of the soul; the other the most gross and vulgar. The love of beauty is placed in a just medium betwixt them, and partakes of both their natures: From whence it proceeds, that it is so singularly fitted to produce both.
The thing about champagne,you say, unfoiling the cork, unwinding the wire restraint, is that is the ultimate associative object. Every time you open a bottle of champagne, it's a celebration, so there's no better way of starting a celebration than opening a bottle of champagne. Every time you sip it, you're sipping from all those other celebrations. The joy accumulates over time.
Rather be frumpy than vulgar! Much. Frumps are often celebrities in disguise -- but a person of vulgar appearance is vulgar all through.
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