When you can’t handle the heady concoction of wine and women, it’s time to pack up your bags and quit.

WINE! Because these problems aren’t going to forget THEMSELVES!

For at the end of the day, what matters is never the wine, it's always the moment; it's always the people.

Whichever wine was within, it was decidedly not identical to its neighbors. On the contrary, the contents of the bottle in his hand was the product of a history as unique and complex as that of a nation, or a man. In its color, aroma, and taste, it would certainly express the idiosyncratic geology and prevailing climate of its home terrain. But in addition, it would express all the natural phenomena of its vintage. In a sip, it would evoke the timing of that winter's thaw, the extent of that summer's rain, the prevailing winds, and the frequency of clouds. Yes, a bottle of wine was the ultimate distillation of time and place; a poetic expression of individuality itself.

Life is a crazy mixture of intoxicating cocktails.

And what is life without the company of wine, women and good weather.