Jameson Whiskey Quotes

Jameson Irish whiskey: a twenty-dollar ticket out of this place.

Bushmills was a Protestant whiskey. Jameson for Catholics.

Others went further: on one of Stanley’s expeditions, James Jameson, heir to an Irish whiskey fortune, bought an eleven-year-old girl so he could sketch her being dismembered and eaten.

Light brown hair—short on the sides, long and wavy on top—piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, a wide, easy smile. Ugly wasn’t a word anyone ever used to describe Jameson Walker, dubbed Whiskey by the national sports media given his first and last names.

Jameson brushes his lips over mine. Gentle when he rarely is. Sweet when I didn’t think it was possible. A whiskey kiss that strikes a match to my heart.

Bushmills was supposedly the whiskey favored by Protestants, while Jameson’s was the Catholics’ choice.

This is for you,” he replied. Jameson took the glass. “Oh god, why?” he groaned, then knocked back the liquid. “She offered to sleep with me.” Jameson started choking on the whiskey. Sanders pounded on his back, but Jameson waved him away. Stumbled over to the sink and turned on the faucet, stuck his mouth underneath it. He must have heard wrong. He couldn't believe it. “I'm sorry,” he gasped for air, leaning against the counter. “You'll have to repeat that. What happened?” “Sex. She offered to have sex with me.” “I see. Did you take her up on this offer?” Pause. Oh my god. I have to kill Sanders. How am I going to do this!? That stupid bitch.