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Like my old mentor would always say, Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and I'll be dead.'' Okay, she wasn't a good poet, but that lady could handle her whiskey.
Your bird drinks whiskey and eats tobacco?" The old man frowned."Just be lad he doesn't like eatin' scrawny boys that don't know their way 'round the Otherworld.
You put three girls in a house, and all of a sudden before you know it, youre talking about boys and drinking whiskey, and things go down and you get deep real quick.
I say, when Mercury arrives, we just pretend we’re not here.” Lawe tipped back his whiskey and swallowed in a single drink. “Stay real quiet. Don’t make eye contact.” They all nodded.
Somewhere back a whiskey or so ago I wrote that thinking was a real thing in the world, just like anything else. I mean that very literally, materially. And it's true about poems, too.
This is why it is good to remember: if you want to get high, don’t drink whiskey; read Shakespeare, Tennyson, Keats, Neruda, Hopkins, Millay, Whitman, aloud and let your body sing.
Truth is used to vitalize a statement rather than devitalize it. Truth implies more than a simple statement of fact. "I don't have any whiskey," may be a fact but it is not a truth.
Ya got cigarettes?” she asks. “Yes, ” I say, “I got cigarettes.” “Matches?” she asks.“Enough to burn Rome.” “Whiskey?”“Enough whiskey for a Mississippi River of pain.” “You drunk?” “Not yet.
A beverage of leisure is a serious business, ” Shane Bowermaster was known to declare. “There can be no product of pleasure without the inverse on the end of the producer.
May your glass always be full, may there always be a roof over your head, and may you dirty sinners be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.
Here's how I'll tell you what I think—if you see white smoke then you know I picked a new pope. And if I'm drinking a Snapple then you know I don't give a shit.
I'm sure you have drawers overflowing with panties the ladies throw at the stage. We saw you guys play down at Mon Brewing a few times. Way to keep the Nineties alive.
I wanted to thank Trent, but all I could do was give him a faint smile before I lost consciousness. Everything had worked flawlessly. I had planned the perfect murder - my own.