Brewery Quotes

“And suddenly, her day turned into the kind that explained why God invented chocolate, comfy pants, and booze.”
― Avery Flynn, Enemies on Tap

“Alcohol is evil … until your loved one gets employed by a brewery.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“Most of the wine in the world sells for two dollars a bottle. Quite a bit sells for four dollars to five dollars a bottle, and there are many that sell for ten dollars a bottle. Then you have wines that sell for three hundred dollars a bottle. What the world needs is a beer that's worth five dollars a bottle. I think that would be great. If all beer prices are forced down to the level of Busch Bavarian, none of us will be there.”
― Fritz Maytag

“Time for a showdown with her mutinous brewmaster. She'd tried nice. She'd tried all business. She'd tried cajoling. Now, it was time to try bitch with big brass balls.”
― Avery Flynn, Enemies on Tap

“In her career, she'd closed multi-million dollar deals without a hint of nerves. Now she needed a jumbo-sized bottle of antacids just to get out of her car. Or a double shot of whiskey. God, she was losing it.”
― Avery Flynn, Enemies on Tap

“She hadn't just drunk the Salvation Kool-Aid - she'd started to brew her own.”
― Avery Flynn, Enemies on Tap

“The elevator doors had barely shut before Olivia's fingers were at the buckle of the belt cinching the waist of her trench dress. Drunk on his nearness, she ignored the security camera in the ceiling. It didn't mean a damn thing. Hell, who was she kidding? She was the wild Sweet triplet, the one voted most likely to do anything, and all she wanted to do right now was Mateo.”
― Avery Flynn, Trouble on Tap

“His gaze dropped down to the deep V of her cherry-red top and the pulse in his temple pulsed. For a second she didn't think he was going to say anything, which was good because she'd just forgotten her own name. His focus inched northward across her generous cleavage, up her neck and to her lips -- leaving a heated trail across her skin without ever making a move. The last dry spot on her panties surrendered.”
― Avery Flynn, Trouble on Tap

“Two things were inarguable. There was too much beer, a lot of it of dubious quality, and too many breweries, brewpubs and contract brewers, the latter dominated by entities that might not have been in the movement for craftsmanship.”
― Tom Acitelli, The Audacity of Hops: The History of America's Craft Beer Revolution

“What's your enterprise of choice?"
Vane grinned. "Hops."
Patience blinked. "Hops?"
"A vital ingredient used to flavor and clarify beers. I own Pembury Manor, an estate near Tunbridge in Kent."
"And you grow hops?"
Vane's smile teased. "As well as apples, pears, cherries, and cob nuts."
Drawing back in her saddle, Patience stared at him. "You're a farmer!"
One brown brow rose. "Among other things."
Recognizing the glint in his eyes, she swallowed a humph.”
― Stephanie Laurens, A Rake's Vow

“For sweetness, people made and ate pekmez (grape syrup). There was nothing in Anatolia, no manufacturing industry. This brewery was an example to the peasants, it was to start the infrastructure, it was to teach what progress could bring.”
― Mehmet Demirci

“There were two true aristocrats in our neighborhood, Mr. Ruppert and Mr. Ehret, the owners of the big breweries. Jake Ruppert’s mansion was on the corner of 93rd and Park Avenue. This was a fabulous place to me, for the principal reason that Ruppert’s garden contained a row of peach trees, which once a year bore lovely, luscious peaches.
Ruppert’s garden also contained two huge watchdogs who ranged along the inside of the iron spiked fence, on the alert for peach poachers. It was the theory of Ruppert’s caretaker that the dogs would be more vicious if they were kept hungry. This theory backfired. I used to hustle a bag of fat and meat scraps from a butcher, feed the starving dogs through the fence until they got friendly and sleepy, then shinny over the spikes and fill my shirt with ripe peaches.
No fruit ever tasted so sweet as stolen fruit, which was about the only kind I ever had until I became, at the age of eleven, a fulltime working man.”
― Harpo Marx, Harpo Speaks!