A Quote by Pliny the Elder

It has become quite a common proverb that in wine there is truth (In Vino Veritas). — © Pliny the Elder
It has become quite a common proverb that in wine there is truth (In Vino Veritas).
"What is truth?" said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer. Pilate was in advance of his time. For "truth" itself is an abstract noun, a camel, that is, of a logical construction, which cannot get past the eye even of a grammarian. We approach it cap and categories in hand: we ask ourselves whether Truth is a substance (the Truth, the Body of Knowledge), or a quality (something like the colour red, inhering in truths), or a relation ("correspondence"). But philosophers should take something more nearly their own size to strain at. What needs discussing rather is the use, or certain uses, of the word "true." In vino, possibly, "veritas," but in a sober symposium "verum."
In wine there is health (In vino sanitas)
Now drown care in wine. [Lat., Nunc vino pellite curas.]
By wine eating cares are put to flight. [Lat., Vino diffugiunt mordaces curae.]
A gentleman who for reasons of chivalry I shall not mention, but who occupied grand office, and who had taken grandly of wine and allowed veritas to overcome him, went up to the Prime Minister and told her he had always fancied her, to which the Prime Minister replied, "Quite right - you have very good taste but I just don't think you would make it at the moment.
Truth hates delay. (Veritas odit moras.)
Magna est veritas, et praevalebit: truth is mighty, and will prevail
Is that what the wine is for? To help you think?" "Oh, the wine. The wine, Costis, is to help hide the truth. It doesn't work. It never has, but I try it every once in a while just in case something in the nature of the wine might have changed.
This is the great evil in wine, it first seizes the feet; it is a cunning wrestler. [Lat., Magnum hoc vitium vino est, Pedes captat primum; luctator dolosu est.]
The Italians always made good wine, but you had the impression they were friendly guys in straw hats running family vineyards with slaves or something so that the vino was never more than ten bucks a bottle.
No nation is drunken where wine is cheap, and none sober where the dearness of wine substitutes ardent spirits as the common beverage
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.
Rely only on yourself; it is a common proverb.
There is an old Italian proverb about the nature of translation: "Traddutore, traditore!" This means simply, "Translators-traitors!" Of course, as you can see, something is lost in the translation of this pithy expression: there is great similarity in both the spelling and the pronunciation of the original saying, but these get diluted once they are put in English dress. Even the translation of this proverb illustrates its truth!
Genuine recollections almost invariably explain oneself to oneself. Suppose, for example, that you feel an instinctive aversion to some particular kind of wine. Try as you will, you can find no reason for it. Suppose when you explore a previous incarnation, you remember you died by a poisoned administered in a wine of that kind, your aversion is explained by the proverb: 'A burnt child dreads the fire.'
Inevitably I came to associate any wine I met with a specific place and a particular slant of history. I learned to perceive more than could be deduced from an analysis of the physical elements in the glass. For me, an important part of the pleasure of wine is its reflection of the total environment that produced it. If I find in a wine no hint of where it was grown, no mark of the summer when the fruit ripened, and no indication of the usages common among those who made it, I am frustrated and disappointed. Because that is what a good, honest wine should offer.
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