In Vino Veritas Quotes

In vino veritas

One day, you will say it to me again. You will be sober. And you will mean it.

In vino veritas,” he tells me. In wine lies the truth.

Yet as the proverb says, 'In vino veritas,' whether with boys, or without them (In allusion to two proverbs.); and therefore I must speak.

Sometimes I just forget how to "people.

I’ve spent a lot of time believing that happy endings don’t exist for me. But I’m finally realizing that I’ve never tried to write my own.

One day, you will say it to me again. You will be sober. And you will mean it.” I was actually terrified that I already meant it. A guy might just be a keeper who hears your cry for help in his head. And comes into a den of thieves to get you out. And then holds your hair while you throw up for ten minutes.

Damn. Still straight, then?” He smirks. “Last time I checked.” “Need a hand checking again? Because I volunteer as tribute.

This is me going after what I deserve. This is me finally writing my own happy ending.

In vino veritas -- In wine there is truth.

In vino veritas ("In wine, truth")

In vino veritas.

I was hoping that the first time you expressed affection for me, it would not be in a room full of strangers. And that you would not have just said it to a sniveling creature like that Raymond!” “I expressed affection for Ray?” “Yes!” “Man, I really must be drunk.” Louis-Cesare just looked at me. I blinked politely back, until I realized that he expected a response.

You can take him!” Ray whispered in my ear. “Damn straight.” The next thing I remember, Ray was fishing me out from under the table. Or, at least, he was trying to, but Scarface’s foot was in the way. “On. Her. Ass,” Scarface said proudly. “She just slipped,” Ray said, sounding frantic. “Anybody could slip. She’s fine!

This is the extent of my sex life – admiring men, and then feeling confused about it.

Keiran Shipley is so attractive that my slutty little mind can’t stop noticing him.

Twenty-two veterans a day. That’s the suicide rate, and many of them were diagnosed with PTSD.

Well, Mr. Samuels, news flash. You don’t get to decide what I feel or where I am in my sexual awakening. You only get to decide if you want to be part of the ride.

Reliving trauma isn’t like that. It’s not tangible, it’s just a wicked piece of shit that steals your happiness until you think you don’t deserve it anymore.

In my defense, I think the problem comes from spending most of my childhood surrounded by cows. Sometimes I just forget how to people.

but there are times when I’m sure he’s checking me out. Then again, I’m sort of vain.

It’s not so terrifying to show people who you really are.

You speechless might be my new favorite thing.” Finn grinned wickedly right before he swallowed me deep, cheeks hollowing, eyes drifting closed.

vino veritas,

No one ever walked this world just once. Who we are comes from the heartscape of every life we've lived before.

That wasn’t so bad,” I decided, after downing the shot. Maybe I was getting my rhythm. “Because you threw it over your shoulder,” Scarface told me, looking smug. “Did not.” I looked behind me, only to see an outraged vamp with fey wine dripping down his face. “Oops.” “It was for luck,” Ray said defensively, wrapping both my hands around a glass. “Drink!” I drank.

I never meant to break all my own rules tonight, but the truth is I like you way too much. So even though it’s a bad idea to jump on your roommate, I’m happier right now than I’ve been in a long time.

Later on, towards the middle of my life, I grew more and more opposed to alcoholic drinks: I, an opponent of vegetarianism, who have experienced what vegetarianism is, — just as Wagner, who converted me back to meat, experienced it, — cannot with sufficient earnestness advise all more spiritual natures to abstain absolutely from alcohol. Water answers the purpose. . . . I have a predilection in favour of those places where in all directions one has opportunities of drinking from running brooks. In vino Veritas: it seems that here once more I am at variance with the rest of the world about the concept 'Truth' — with me spirit moves on the face of the waters. . . . Here are a few more indications as to my morality. A heavy meal is digested more easily than an inadequate one. The first principle of a good digestion is that the stomach should become active as a whole. A man ought, therefore, to know the size of his stomach. For the same reasons all those interminable meals, which I call interrupted sacrificial feasts, and which are to be had at any table d'hôte, are strongly to be deprecated. Nothing should be eaten between meals, coffee should be given up — coffee makes one gloomy. Tea is beneficial only in the morning. It should be taken in small quantities, but very strong. It may be very harmful, and indispose you for the whole day, if it be taken the least bit too weak. Everybody has his own standard in this matter, often between the narrowest and most delicate limits. In an enervating climate tea is not a good beverage with which to start the day: an hour before taking it an excellent thing is to drink a cup of thick cocoa, feed from oil. Remain seated as little as possible, put no trust in any thought that is not born in the open, to the accompaniment of free bodily motion — nor in one in which even the muscles do not celebrate a feast. All prejudices take their origin in the intestines. A sedentary life, as I have already said elsewhere, is the real sin against the Holy Spirit.

This place sort of looks like one, I guess? With all the fields and the cows, and your parents still love each other. But even this isn’t perfect.” “No,” says Jamie. “But who ever said happy was perfect?

Audrey gives me a knowing little wink and reaches for a piece of salami. “Where’s mine?” says her husband from the floor. “Don’t ask me to find your salami in front of all these people, honey.” There’s a roar of laughter

But for once, I’d listened to that little voice in my head that said You’re better than this. Hadn’t I been thinking about how empty my hook-ups left me? I deserved better. I deserved more. And I wouldn’t be getting it from Alec.

I’m done trying to fight all the things I feel for this man. I may end up ruining our friendship. I may even get my heart broken. But some people are worth the risk, aren’t they? I have a feeling in my bones that Kieran Shipley is one of them.

When he turns to me, I realize I’m staring at him like a creeper. His eyes light up with amusement. “Need something?” “No,” I say too quickly. He gives me a comical frown. “Bummer. Because there are other things I could teach you besides cooking. Just saying.

I wanted the distance so I could figure it all out.” “Your sexuality,” he guesses. “That,” I agree. “And my career, too. I need a better graphic-design job, and some more coursework. I don’t want to hear Dad’s opinions all the time. Not about that, and not about…” “Steamy-hot man-loving?” Roderick offers, and I almost choke on my sandwich. “Sorry,” he says with a grin. “I was born with no filter.

When you are drunk, your understanding of your true self changes. This is the crucial implication of drunkenness as myopia. The old disinhibition idea implied that what was revealed when someone got drunk was a kind of stripped-down, distilled version of their sober self—without any of the muddying effects of social nicety and propriety. You got the real you. As the ancient saying goes, In vino veritas: “In wine there is truth.” But that’s backward. The kinds of conflicts that normally keep our impulses in check are a crucial part of how we form our character. All of us construct our personality by managing the conflict between immediate, near considerations and more complicated, longer-term considerations. That is what it means to be ethical or productive or responsible. The good parent is someone who is willing to temper their own immediate selfish needs (to be left alone, to be allowed to sleep) with longer-term goals (to raise a good child). When alcohol peels away those longer-term constraints on our behavior, it obliterates our true self.

passes over her face. “He was involved, wasn’t he?” she says quickly. “He got us the E. I thought he might have had the same message.” “And had he?” I say, my head spinning. Why didn’t Sam mention this when I dropped Henry off the other day? That must have been why he was weird, asking me if I was OK. And why didn’t he say anything when I spoke to him earlier tonight? “No, he hasn’t had anything. Oh God, Louise, what are we going to do? Who’s doing this?” I wasn’t expecting this panic from her. In vino veritas indeed. “I don’t know. Have you had any messages from Maria? Since she friend-requested you?” “Two.” Her eyes are huge, like a Disney princess’. “What did they say?” “I had one not long after the friend request that just said ‘Still looking good, Sophie.’ And then another one this morning.” “What did it say?” “It just said ‘See you at the reunion, Sophie Hannigan.’ I mean, it’s a message that anyone could have sent. Nothing scary about it, except that it’s from her.” Her voice is a whisper and there is real fear in it. “Oh God, Louise, what shall we do?” “Why didn’t you say all this when I came to your flat? Why did you act like it wasn’t a problem?” My cheeks are flushed; she made me feel so foolish for being upset about the Facebook request from Maria. “I’ve tried not to think about it. What we did… I know it was wrong.

I was talking to my online book club, and they recommended …” She glances around the store as if we’re being watched and then leans in and lowers her voice. “Something called MM romance.” I purse my lips to stop from smiling. “We, uh, do have those books, but, umm, do you know what MM means?” When I started working here, I had no clue. She whispers, “It’s about the gays.” Do not laugh, Rainn. Do not laugh. It’s hard because her tone is so serious. “We keep those books over here.” We move toward the gay romance section, and her little face lights up. “Ooh, what’s better than one shirtless man on a cover but two?” A chuckle finally escapes. She reaches for a book, and my cheeks heat. “That one is kind of … advanced.

But if the same man is in a quiet corner of a bar, drinking alone, he will get more depressed. Now there’s nothing to distract him. Drinking puts you at the mercy of your environment. It crowds out everything except the most immediate experiences.2 Here’s another example. One of the central observations of myopia theory is that drunkenness has its greatest effect in situations of “high conflict”—where there are two sets of considerations, one near and one far, that are in opposition. So, suppose that you are a successful professional comedian. The world thinks you are very funny. You think you are very funny. If you get drunk, you don’t think of yourself as even funnier. There’s no conflict over your hilariousness that alcohol can resolve. But suppose you think you are very funny and the world generally doesn’t. In fact, whenever you try to entertain a group with a funny story, a friend pulls you aside the next morning and gently discourages you from ever doing it again. Under normal circumstances, the thought of that awkward conversation with your friend keeps you in check. But when you’re drunk? The alcohol makes the conflict go away. You no longer think about the future corrective feedback regarding your bad jokes. Now it is possible for you to believe that you are actually funny. When you are drunk, your understanding of your true self changes. This is the crucial implication of drunkenness as myopia. The old disinhibition idea implied that what was revealed when someone got drunk was a kind of stripped-down, distilled version of their sober self—without any of the muddying effects of social nicety and propriety. You got the real you. As the ancient saying goes, In vino veritas: “In wine there is truth.” But that’s backward. The kinds of conflicts that normally keep our impulses in check are a crucial part of how we form our character. All of us construct our personality by managing the conflict between immediate, near considerations and more complicated, longer-term considerations. That is what it means to be ethical or productive or responsible. The good parent is someone who is willing to temper their own immediate selfish needs (to be left alone, to be allowed to sleep) with longer-term goals (to raise a good child). When alcohol peels away those longer-term constraints on our behavior, it obliterates our true self. So who were the Camba, in reality? Heath says their society was marked by a singular lack of “communal expression.” They were itinerant farmworkers. Kinship ties were weak. Their daily labor tended to be solitary, the hours long.

In vino veritas. With wine comes truth.

In vino veritas: “In wine there is truth.

In vino veritas,

Jasper was definitely hot, but he was also cranky. I knew better than to be attracted to a cranky person. They were always so much work.

There is an art in making the everyday visible, in making the commonplace uncommon so that people can experience it as if it is the first time. So, why, out of every moment in your life, did you write about that one?

I’ll tell you the most important secret of being a writer. The only thing we have to bring to the table is our unique identity, our unique way of seeing the world. Everything humans experience has been written about. Time and time again. I’ve heard it boiled down to two main narratives: a man goes on a journey, and a stranger comes to town. Your story is both.

Use that. Dig deep. Use all of those parts of yourself, even the ones you don’t like, or don’t want to think about. Sometimes those are the parts you need to reach most of all.

Find the specialness in the ubiquity?

Somewhere inside, I’m ecstatic. I can see it, but that ecstasy seems to have gotten trapped behind the same pane of glass that keeps the anger and sadness at bay so I can function.

He thinks he loves all of me, but he doesn’t know all of me. He only knows the me in front of the wall of glass.

The specifics don’t matter to me,” Cooper says. “I’ve never had a big dream. Mine are all small, commonplace. I just want a life. I want to be around people I love and have enough money to take care of them and feel secure and maybe travel a bit. Mostly I just want to be with you, wherever that is, and whatever that looks like.

He looked impossibly young and vulnerable, in that way people did when all their walls crumbled at their feet and the universe seemed trustworthy, if only for a moment.

Only once or twice before have I felt this instant connection with another person. They walk into the room and something between us clicks. It’s like the universe is telling me pay attention, this person is important

It’s more than arousal. I love him so, so much.

This week, when God closes a door, he also engages the deadbolt.

He lifts my chin with a finger and stares at me with a sternness that makes me want to call him sir and start apologizing for being naughty.

Mrs. Embry flips through the book, pausing to read a few paragraphs. “What’s a boy button?” Loud laughter comes from behind me, but when I turn to glare at my boss, it’s hard not to laugh with him. He’s trying to contain it, which only makes his face look strained, and his cheeks turn pink. He waves his hand and abandons his spot where he’s putting the new stock out on shelves, no doubt retreating to the back room to compose himself. “Uh …” I have no idea what to tell Mrs. Embry. “Whatever it is, this man sure likes it being pegged. I’m sold.” She hands me the book to ring it up at the cash register, and it takes a second for me to process what just happened. “Are you sure you want this one?” “This is good.

Big, built guys were not my usual flavor at all, but Finn was like a loaded burger after years of poached fish, a craving I couldn’t seem to shut off.

Just own it. You like the happiness factor.” I certainly did. Life was full enough of hardship and unexpected heartbreak. It wasn’t too much to ask my fictional escapes to not be all doom and gloom.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It’s really hard to smile with a cock in my mouth.

I love ice cream. Sour cream. Cheese. All kinds of cheese, even cottage cheese, which Jeremy says tastes like sadness.

Everything was always a lot of hard work, but that wasn’t so bad. We all did it together, you know? It sounds weird to say it, but every day was our happy ending. Even if it wasn’t happy.

Listen. When you get stellar advice, it's worth something." "What's your advice?" "Do whatever you want. It's your life, no one else's.

Let’s leap.

And I love him for it.

In vino veritas

In vino veritas, libertas et amicitas. Cuando emprendo un viaje a lejanas tierras, me llevo siempre una bota

Heart. Gut. Soul. If I listen to me rather than anyone else, I’ll make better decisions. I’m just so used to listening to everyone else.

I guess that’s what adulting really is—living your best life in spite of all the apologies we never hear.

But you’re bumping up against our deepest fear. It isn’t that something bad will happen. It’s that something good will happen. That we’ll be wanted by someone else. That we’ll be enough for them. Because it means that we’re enough for ourselves. And it also means responsibility. We have to take responsibility for our own lives—and for loving someone else.

I’m doomed. And doomed people sleep poorly.

I’m a pack animal. I’m not cut out to live alone.

And the nature of their suspicion has a long history: the Greek poet Alcaeus of Mytilene coined a popular phrase En oino álétheia (In wine there is the truth), which was repeated by the Roman Pliny the Elder as In vino veritas. The Babylonian Talmud contains a passage in the same spirit: “In came wine, out went a secret.” It later advises, “In three things is a man revealed: in his wine goblet, in his purse, and in his wrath.” The Roman historian Tacitus claimed that the Germanic peoples always drank alcohol while holding councils to prevent anyone from lying.

Our Roderick is a pleaser,” Audrey says, patting my arm. “So many chefs are.” “What do you mean, a pleaser?” I help myself to a slice of brie on a cracker. “You give a lot, and you hope others will do the same. And since you’re above average, they let you down a lot of the time.

My father's green John Deere was one of the first things I drew, and it became the subject of hundreds of pictures. I used up every green crayon in the house, and when they were gone, my mother joked that I'd have to start drawing Kubotas, because they're orange. So I did. Problem solved.

People tell you to be yourself. But not everybody can afford that luxury.

Still, I can’t stop wondering how good it would feel to be grabbed up in those strong arms and hugged. Or, say, pinned to the bed while he fucks me. I’m not picky.

Hey.” A rush of affection makes me reach up to cup his face in my hand, so I can see his eyes. “If you ever decide to experiment with some lucky guy, just know that he’s going to feel like he’s winning at life.

I love you,” I try. It isn’t nearly as hard to say as I thought it would be. “I love you so much.” Actually, it does hurt to say it. But it aches in a good way. Like sore muscles after a good workout. It aches like progress. Roddy leans down and places a soft kiss on my temple. “I know,” he says. “I love you, too. Now just relax.

We’re like a constellation in the night sky—people associate the stars with one another, but those stars only look like a group. They’re really millions of light years apart.

El amor siempre resulta cómico a los ojos de un tercero

Perhaps if I can entice him into discussing something other than trivialities—with a few glasses of brandy thrown into the mix—I might learn something about what is affecting him. After all, as is said: in vino, veritas.

Roses are red Violets are blue I love my coffee And if you talk to me before I drink it I will cut you I let out a happy snort. Is it possible that I’ve found my people?

No,” he says slowly. “But if you’re trying to convince me to move out, getting a puppy is not the way to do it.” “So you’re just using me for my dog?” I ask, risking a glance over at him. “And your big,” his eyes drop to my arms, “beachfront access.” His grin is addicting and I can’t help smiling back. He might not know he’s doing it, but Sean is flirting with me. I’ve gone to bed with people with less encouragement. “That’s why I got it,” I say fluttering my eyelashes. “My beachfront brings all the boys to my yard.

Having Roderick in my life is like having a fire in the hearth. He warms me even when I can’t see him.

Whit enters and takes off his coat. “It’s March. The trees are still bare.” “I swear I walked past a tree that sprayed its sex pollen all over me. It only takes one tree, Whit. I’ve been sneezing ever since.” “Sex pollen …” Whit blinks at me. “That’s what it is!” “I will never look at trees the same way again. Does that make bees, like, nature’s pimps?

Rainn turning up at my game last night was surprising, and even though it was a total boyfriend move, I can’t let myself think that way. We haven’t had an official date or anything, and we’ve hooked up twice. Although, technically, I have come four times in the last eighteen hours or so, so is that one hookup or four? Sex math is hard.

Jax is wrecked. He rests his head on his forearm, breathing heavy, his strong back rippling with the effort to put himself back together. His skin has reddened patches all over where I’ve manhandled him, and I kind of feel bad for him. Because this isn’t over.

It’s daylight when I open my eyes again. Tanner’s awake, of course. I wonder if he ever truly sleeps. He stares at me. I stare right back, and a stillness surrounds us that wasn’t there before. As if the frantic nature of our attraction to each other was making everything cloudy. Noisy. My desire for him is far from sated, but I can breathe through it now, and I revel in the fact he hasn’t spoken yet. That the spell is unbroken. Sometimes I’m so frustrated with his silence I could fucking shake him, but when he’s like this I remember that none of it matters. That we have time. And I’m so blessed that a man so fucking sweet wants to be with me that I have no right to complain. About anything. Ever.

You’re a little too young to be at the ‘Get off my lawn’ stage of grumpiness.

We continue walking around the festival while I hold my breath for something to go wrong. As if waiting for the universe to smite me for even thinking I could possibly have a relationship with someone and have a sort of plan in place for a future.

And I know I’m a lucky guy, too.

No una certidumbre metódica, oh no, viejo querido, eso no por lo que más quieras, ni un in vino veritas ni una dialéctica a lo Fichte u otros lapidarios spinozianos, solamente como una aceptación en la náusea, Heráclito se había hecho enterrar en un montón de estiércol para curarse la hidropesía(...) En la mierda hasta el cogote, Heráclito el Oscuro, exactamente igual que ellos pero sin el vino, y además para curarse la hidropesía. Entonces tal vez fuera eso, estar en la mierda hasta el cogote y también esperar, porque seguramente Heráclito había tenido que quedarse en la mierda días enteros, y Oliveira se estaba acordando que también Heráclito había dicho que si no se esperaba jamás se encontraría lo inesperado (...) Apretando el cigarrillo entre los labios hasta sentirlo casi como parte de la boca, Oliveira la escuchaba, la dejaba que se fuera apretando contra él, se repetía fríamente que no era mejor que ella y que en el peor de los casos siempre podría curarse como Heráclito, tal vez el mensaje más penetrante del Oscuro era el que no había escrito, dejando que la anécdota, la voz de los discípulos la transmitiera para que quizá algún oído fino entendiese alguna vez.

. He was not a man by any means habitually intemperate, and now any one saying that he was tipsy would have maligned him. But he was flushed with much wine, and he was a man whose arrogance in that condition was apt to become extreme. “In vino veritas!” The sober devil can hide his cloven hoof; but when the devil drinks he loses his cunning and grows honest.

longer think about the future corrective feedback regarding your bad jokes. Now it is possible for you to believe that you are actually funny. When you are drunk, your understanding of your true self changes. This is the crucial implication of drunkenness as myopia. The old disinhibition idea implied that what was revealed when someone got drunk was a kind of stripped-down, distilled version of their sober self—without any of the muddying effects of social nicety and propriety. You got the real you. As the ancient saying goes, In vino veritas: “In wine there is truth.