Famous Vintage Quotes

The flat was large and airy, sparsely furnished with sleek, modern pieces; no walls separated living spaces, except the bedroom. Vintage posters advertising the 24 Hours of Le Mans and the Grand Prix de Monaco decorated the walls. There was a picture of Steve McQueen, leaning against his famous Ford Mustang, and another of Carroll Shelby, the legendary American automaker going face-to-face with Enzo Ferrari, his even more legendary Italian counterpart.

A moth flying into the flame says with its wingfire, 'Try this.' The wick with its knotted neck broken, tells you the same. A candle as it diminishes explains, 'Gathering more and more is not the way. Burn, become light and heat and help. Melt.' The ocean sits in the sand letting its lap fill with pearls and shells, then empty. A bittersalt taste hums, 'This.' The phoenix gives up on good-and-bad, flies to rest on Mt. Qaf, no more burning and rising from ash. It sends out one message. The rose purifies its face, drops the soft petals, shows its thorn, and points. Wine abandons thousands of famous names, the vintage years and delightful bouquets, to run wild and anonymous through your brain. The flute closes its eyes and gives its lips to Hamza’s emptiness. Everything begs with the silent rocks for you to be flung out like light over this plain, the presence of Shams.

in 1949 America, nothing said “crazy” like an educated white man with a beard.

Even if it were right, third-degree doesn’t work as well as scientific methods.” His approach was to get the suspect to talk about anything. “It doesn’t matter what. Ask him about the weather, his favorite food, anything. If you get him to say something, you can pry the truth out of him eventually.

The death of the Curé Ponosse occurred in the vintage month, when his beloved Clochemerle was impregnated with the odour of new wine, in the golden glory of a brilliant, hot September. The old priest died in the apotheosis of a great year, famous for its wine, one of those years whose fragrant soul is destined to be poured, later, from bottles, to rejoice the heart of man, to celebrate earth's abundance, the memories of happy days, and perfect summers.

must be that you are a colored man,” Rees declared. Frederick grew irritated and stated he was not colored. Rees smiled and continued to press him with variations of the same question. Unaware that the attorney was baiting him, Frederick’s anger boiled over, giving Rees the opening he wanted. For the crafty defense attorney, he didn’t care if Rees was black, Arabian, or Indian; he just wanted the witness