Tennessee Whiskey Quotes

but mash whiskey took some of the dry away and made Augustus feel nicely misty inside—foggy and cool as a morning in the Tennessee hills. He seldom got downright drunk, but he did enjoy feeling misty along about sundown,

Colby was quietly shocked to find Tate not only at his door the next morning, but smiling. He was expecting an armed assault following their recent telephone conversation. “I’m here with a job offer.” Colby’s dark eyes narrowed. “Does it come with a cyanide capsule?” he asked warily. Tate clapped the other man on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about the way I’ve treated you. I haven’t been thinking straight. I’m obliged to you for telling me the truth about Cecily.” “You know the baby’s yours, I gather?” Tate nodded. “I’m on my way to Tennessee to bring her home,” he replied. Colby’s eyes twinkled. “Does she know this?” “Not yet. I’m saving it for a surprise.” “I imagine you’re the one who’s going to get the surprise,” Colby informed him. “She’s changed a lot in the past few weeks.” “I noticed.” Tate leaned against the wall near the door. “I’ve got a job for you.” “You want me to go to Tennessee?” Colby murmured dryly. “In your dreams, Lane,” Tate returned. “No, not that. I want you to head up my security force for Pierce Hutton while I’m away.” Colby looked around the room. “Maybe I’m hallucinating.” “You and my father,” Tate muttered, shaking his head. “Listen, I’ve changed.” “Into what?” “Pay attention. It’s a good job. You’ll have regular hours. You can learn to sleep without a gun under your pillow. You won’t lose any more arms.” He added thoughtfully, “I’ve been a bad friend. I was jealous of you.” “But why?” Colby wanted to know. “Cecily is special. I look out for her, period. There’s never been a day since I met her when she wasn’t in love with you, or a time when I didn’t know it.” Tate felt warmth spread through his body at the remark. “I’ve given her hell. She may not feel that way, now.” “You can’t kill love,” Colby said heavily. “I know. I’ve tried.” Tate felt sorry for the man. He didn’t know how to put it into words. Colby shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve learned to live with my ghosts, thanks to that psychologist Cecily pushed me into seeing.” He scowled. “She keeps snakes, can you imagine? I used to see mine crawling out of whiskey bottles, but hers are real.” “Maybe she’s allergic to fur,” Tate pointed out. Colby chuckled. “Who knows. When do I start?” he added. “Today.” He produced a mobile phone and dialed a number. “I’m sending Colby Lane over. He’s my relief while I’m away. If you have any problems, report them to him.” He nodded as the person on the other end of the line replied in the affirmative. He closed up the phone. “Okay, here’s what you need to do…

Back at the Date Palm, Bobby and I drank like we had received federal funding to study the impact of beer and Tennessee whiskey on the human body.

the wine for a moment, as he knew it was Lois’ favorite. Finally, he grabbed the strong stuff in the back, a bottle of “Jack Daniel’s Old Tennessee Whiskey.” He struggled with the sealed cap like

A Southern Vegetarian’s Story By Erin Stewart, Alabama Grits It wasn’t easy being a vegetarian in Huntsville, Alabama, but I managed it throughout my high school years. At least I thought I did. I remember one trip with my parents that threw everything into doubt. It was a Saturday, and we had reservations at Miss Mary Bobo’s, the famous restaurant in Lynchburg, Tennessee, the home of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. Miss MaryBobo’s is known for serving at least one item cooked in Jack Daniel’s at every meal: this time it was the apples. What really interested me, though, was the greens. I think they were mustard greens. I was just eating my third bite when a large man next to me turned to our hostess, who was watching us all eat at one communal table, and said, “Miss Mary Bobo, these are the best greens I’ve ever had. What’s your secret?” Without a second thought, she replied, “Why, real lard, of course.” I must confess: I took one more bite before I put my fork down! (Don’t tell anyone!) To this day, those are some of the best greens I’ve ever tasted.

Like a vein of hard coal, it was the strike We fantasized, the pocket of sure reward we sidestepped the road- blocks for In Southwest Virginia, seamed in its hillside Above the north fork of the Holston River. One afternoon before Christmas In 1953, we crossed the bridge from Tennessee on a whiskey run, Churchill and Bevo Hammond and Philbeck and I, All home for the holidays. On the back road where they chased us, we left the Sheriff's Patrol in their own dust, And washed ours down with Schlitz on the way home. Jesus, it’s so ridiculous, and full of self-love, The way we remember ourselves, and the dust we leave... Remember me as you will, but remember me once Slide-wheeling around the curves, letting it out on the other side of the line.

…the tennessee whiskey on his lips with the cherry lip gloss on mine

He was as tall as Renzo’s six-two frame, only wider with more muscles, and sported close-cut dark hair, skin on the lighter shade of brown and eyes the color of Tennessee whiskey.

Actually, I always pictured myself in Tennessee—managing the distillery, handling sales, and raising my kids in a large house on a farm. Riding horses on a Saturday, little league games, too many tiny bodies in bed to make love on a Saturday morning but Saturday nights would be solely for my wife. Red wine by the fire and hours in bed.

Thunder Road” became a codename for particular routes everyone knew through the main thoroughfares. Numerous drivers ended up risking their lives for a truckload of whiskey. Ike Costner, one of the original mobsters alongside Al Capone, became one of the biggest moonshine distributors in Tennessee, having perfected his moonshining skills in a government-run distillery before Prohibition started. Criminal