Wine is a peep-hole on a man.
Not houses finely roofed or the stones of walls well builded, nay nor canals and dockyards make the city, but men able to use their opportunity.
One that hath wine as a chain about his wits, such a one lives no life at all.
Tis said that wrath is the last thing in a man to grow old.
Plant no tree sooner than the vine.
The Arcadians were chestnut-eaters.