Gilbeys Wines Quotes & Sayings

success and like free enterprise and all — William Gaddis

I always thought saying sorry was more about alleviating
guilt, that apologies were designed for the mouth, not for
the ears. — Swati Avasthi

The whole concept of some stranger making his way down our chimney - not that we had one - suggested burglary more readily than generosity. Any Santa who tried it would have gotten a bullet in his holly, jolly keister. — Thomm Quackenbush

I sing because I love singing. I perform because I love performing. I write because I actually enjoy writing. — Ne-Yo

Oouuu, you nasty man! — Stephen King

I dread the beginning of her new life more than words can tell, but I see some hope for her if she travels - none if she remains at home. — Wilkie Collins

It is no easy task to do away with a thing that is established. We, therefore, say that the non-beginning of a thing is supreme wisdom. — Mahatma Gandhi

True will is quiet humility, resilience, and flexibility; the other kind of will is weakness disguised by bluster and ambition. — Ryan Holiday

Beat me, hate me, you can never break me. — Michael Jackson

I'm not good at telling a joke, but I can say a line in a certain way that makes people uncomfortable because they don't know whether to laugh or not, and I love that comedy. — Walton Goggins

War never accomplishes anything. It's never going to look good in the history books. People are never going to look back and think, 'He started a lot of wars; what a great leader he was!' That's not the way it works. God knows how many more of these things we're going to need before it starts to sink in. — Alan Moore

Sick of it whatever it's called sick of the names
I dedicate every pore to what's here — Ikkyu

What bothers me is that there is so much emphasis on food, rather than gathering and meeting - so that there is all this effort in creating the right food, whereas the food is only a small part of whether the encounter is successful or not. — Alain De Botton

The one outside of life we always were in the end, all our long vain life long. Who is not spared by the mad need to speak, to think, to know where one is, where one was, during the wild dream, up above, under the skies, venturing forth at night. The one ignorant of himself and silent, ignorant of his silence and silent, who could not be and gave up trying. Who crouches in their midst who see themselves in him and in their eyes stares his unchanging stare. — Samuel Beckett