Whiskey claims to itself alone the exclusive office of sot-making.

You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.

I assure you, my friends, I am cone sold stober.

Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough.

Whiskey, like a beautiful woman, demands appreciation. You gaze first, then it's time to drink.

Whisky nosers, as they called themselves, eschewed what they saw as the pretentiousness of wine vocabulary. While oenophiles resorted to recondite adjectives, whisky nosers spoke the language of everyday life, detecting hints of stale seaweed, or even diesel fuel.