Cat Wine Quotes & Sayings

It's easier to be old than young. You make just as many blunders, but you've become much more adept at not recognizing them. — Terry Rossio

A house without a cat is like a day without sunshine, a pie without fromage, a dinner without wine. — Julia Child

That's alright," said Hugo. "I've got some wine"
Which was about all he seemed to have. He poured out two mugfuls.
"Very nice," said Adrian, sipping appreciatively. "I wonder how they got the cat to sit on the bottle."
"It's cheap, that's the main thing. — Stephen Fry

Man is free whenever he produces or manifests God, and through this he becomes immortal. — Karl Wilhelm Friedrich Schlegel

Here's a random factoid: I like cats. And here's another: I like red wine. — Shannon Celebi

I looked around for a fly to kill — Charles Bukowski

When grown-ups hear a little dark door creaking in their hearts they turn the telly up. They slug a glass of wine. They tell the cat it was just a door creaking. The cat knows. It jumps down from the sofa and walks out of the room. When that little dark door in a heart starts to go click-clack click-clack click-clack click-clack so loudly and violently their chest shows an actual beat - well, then they say they've got bad cholesterol and they try to quit using butter, they begin to go for walks.
When the tiny dark door in her heart creaks open, she will walk right through it.
She will lie down and inside her own heart like a bird in the night. — Jenni Fagan

Come live with me and be my love
And we will all the pleasures prove
Of a marriage conducted with economy
In the Twentieth Century Anno Donomy.
We'll live in a dear little walk-up flat
With practically room to swing a cat
And a potted cactus to give it hauteur
And a bathtub equipped with dark brown water.
We'll eat, without undue discouragement,
Foods low in cost but high in nouragement
And quaff with pleasure, while chatting wittily,
The peculiar wine of Little Italy.
We'll remind each other it's smart to be thrifty
And buy our clothes for something-fifty.
We'll bus for miles on holidays
For seas at depressing matinees,
And every Sunday we'll have a lark
And take a walk in Central Park.
And one of these days not too remote
You'll probably up and cut my throat. — Ogden Nash

By my tenth glass of wine I started to wonder whether there was something wrong with my palate. Everyone else was marking the wine list with notes like "Pleasant finish. Robust spices." Meanwhile, I was doodling pictures of vampiric cougars. Then I noticed people staring at my doodles, and so I started writing notes next to the wine. Things like "Tastes of NyQuil, but in a good way," and "This one will get you all the way fucked up." "I can't feel my feet anymore." "Did I leave the garage door open? I wonder whether the cat is on fire. I should probably stop drinking now." Everyone else there had a sophisticated palate. I had one that needed therapy, and possibly an intervention. — Jenny Lawson

Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills. (So my hands won't shake.) (So my heart won't race.) (So my face won't thaw.) (So my blood won't mold.) (So the voices won't scream.) (So I don't reach for knives.) (So I keep out of the oven.) (So I eat every morsel.) (So the wine goes bitter.) (So I remember the laundry.) (So I remember to call.) (So I remember the name of each pill.) (So I remember the name of each sickness.) (So I keep my hands inside my hands.) (So the city won't rattle.) (So I don't weep on the bus.) (So I don't wander the guardrail.) (So the flashbacks go quiet.) (So the insomnia sleeps.) (So I don't jump at car horns.) (So I don't jump at cat-calls.) (So I don't jump a bridge.) (So I don't twitch.) (So I don't riot.) (So I don't slit a strange man's throat.) — Jeanann Verlee

...bravo...' Mister Kindly said,'..if only I had hands to applaud..'
Mia smacked her backside. 'I'd settle for lips to kiss my sweet behind.
'...I would have to find it first...'
Arses are like fine wine, Mister Kindly. Better too little than too much.
' ...a beauty and a philosopher. be still my beating heart...' The not-cat looked down at its translucent chest '...O,wait... — Jay Kristoff

Pure herring oil is the port wine of English cats — Honore De Balzac

But he could not taste, he could not feel. In the teashop among the tables and the chattering waiters the appalling fear came over him- he could not feel. He could reason; he could read, Dante for example, quite easily ... he could add up his bill; his brain was perfect; it must be the fault of the world then- that he could not feel. — Virginia Woolf

Tonight, you're going to learn to influence two elements simultaneously."
"I can't believe you ruined a bottle of avise wine."
"I told you magic was a conversation - "
"You also said it was an ocean," said Lila. "And a door, and once I think you even called it a cat - "
"Well, tonight we're calling it a conversation. We're simply adding another participant. The same power, different lines."
"I've never been able to pat my head and rub my stomach at the same time."
"Well then, this should be interesting. — Victoria Schwab

The Cat: When the wine drinks itself, when the skull speaks, when the clock strikes the right time, only then will you find the tunnel that leads to the Red Bull. There be a trick to it, of course. — Peter S. Beagle

You're welcome to as much wine as you can drink, Ares."
... [Ares] watched two bare-breasted women stroll by. "Am I welcome to your worshippers as well?"
"If they'll have you. Force yourself on anyone, though, and the cat gets to gnaw on your anatomy." Dionysos nodded to Agria, who prowled around the crowd. "Those are the rules."
Ares smirked ... "No problem there. I'm very persuasive."
Hermes shook his head at Dionysos and mouthed in comical exaggeration, *No, he's not.* — Molly Ringle

What is perfection in love? Love your enemies in such a way that you would desire to make them your brothers ... For so did He love, Who hanging on the Cross, said "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34) — Saint Augustine

Food is about communal togetherness. Our family does sit at the table. I think it's a great tragedy if a family doesn't have a table, as there is such an atmosphere of good will and warmth when we have eight people sitting around it. — Jonathan Dimbleby

I think if you look after yourself on a regular basis, and do the prep beforehand, you don't need to put lots of effort into looking good. It's about finding the right balance - if you have a good diet, drink lots of water, exercise regularly and sleep, you won't look bad on a regular basis. Then you can afford the occasional naughty slip up once in a while, going out and having a delicious glass of wine with friends, having a great laugh and chat then realizing its 2am isn't so bad - you've put in the hard work! — Cat Deeley

But then she met Nick, who told her she was beautiful, and whenever he toucher her, it was as if his touch were actually making her as beautiful as he seemed to believe she was. So why would she deny herself a second piece of mud cake or glass of champagne if Nick was there with the knife or the bottle poised, grinning evilly and saying "You only live once," as if every day were a celebration. Nick had little boy's sweet tooth, and an appreciation of good food, fine wine and beautiful weather; eating and drinking with Nick in hot sunshine was like sex. He made her feel like a well-fed happy cat: plump, sleek, purring with sensual satisfaction. — Liane Moriarty

Shadow had promised himself a bath when he got out of prison, and Shadow kept his promises. — Neil Gaiman

Mutual funds are an overrated investment heavily promoted by Wall Street. — Peter Schiff

Maggie sipped her drink with the cat draped across her lap and the dog curled at her feet. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and Dan Sean's shallow snores. There were no CD's to play, no radio, no television. There was nothing. She was just sitting there in silence, getting drunk. It occurred to her that a person's first drunken experience shoud be in the basement of a friend's house, in a forest preserve, behind the bleachers of a football field. Certainly not in the company of a sleeping ninety-nine-year-old man. She giggled a little and wondered what Uncle Kevin would make of it. "Hot port?" he would say. "Very impressive, Mags. I would have thought you'd be more of a wine cooler type of girl. — Jessie Ann Foley