Wine is bottled poetry.
Wherever a man is, there will be a lie.
There is no foreign land; it is the traveller only that is foreign, and now and again, by a flash of recollection, lights up the contrasts of the earth.
The imagination loves to trifle with what is not.
Sight-seeing is the art of disappointment.
A bottle of good wine, like a good act, shines ever in the retrospect.