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Bar Quotes

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Bar Quotes

“By drinking, a boy acts like a man. After drinking, many a man acts like a boy.”

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Author:Mokokoma Mokhonoana
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“Hi ladies, Hi Girls..., If you don't add more knowledge to what you already know, you may be a virgin but may not raise your bar! Go, get extra oil!”

GirlKnowledgeStudyWiseWifeFemaleAddFood For ThoughtIsraelmore AyivorOilWomanFuelGirlsLearnWomanhoodKnowWivesBarLadyVirginLadiesAlreadyRaise The Bar10 Virgins5 Foolish Virgins5 Virgins5 Wise VirginsExtra OilFive Foolish VirginsFoolish VirginHi GirlHi Lady
Book:The Great Hand Book of Quotes
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“Nothing belongs to itself anymore. These trees are yours because you once looked at them. These streets are yours because you once traversed them. These coffee shops and bookshops, these cafés and bars, their sole owner is you. They gave themselves so willingly, surrendering to your perfume. You sang with the birds and they stopped to listen to you. You smiled at the sheepish stars and they fell into your hair. The sun and moon, the sea and mountain, they have all left from heartbreak. Nothing belongs to itself anymore. You once spoke to Him, and then God became yours. He sits with us in darkness now to plot how to make you ours.” K.K.”

LoveGodStarsNatureDarkLove QuotesDarknessSunWifeSeaStreetsHairMoonHusbandMountainHeartbreakSmileBelovedGirlfriendPlotBelongingLoverLovingValentineTreesPerfumeNothingBoyfriendBirdsKamandKojouriKamand KojouriIn LoveListenLove PoemsPartnerCoffee ShopRoadsRestaurantBarBelongBookstoreSitCafeBookshopStoreOwnerRomantic PoemsShopItselfAnymoreBelongsShort Love PoemsSangSheepishTraversed
Author:Kamand Kojouri
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“We named the bar The Bar. "People will think we're ironic instead of creatively bankrupt," my sister reasoned. Yes, we thought we were being clever New Yorkers - that the name was a joke no one else would really get, like we did. Not meta-get ... But our first customer, a gray-haired woman in bifocals and a pink jogging suit, said, "I like the name. Like in Breakfast at Tiffany's and Audrey Hepburn's cat was named Cat.”

LossFailureCatDrinkingAlcoholBarsVanityIronyNew BeginningsNew YorkersBarSnobsBreakfast At Tiffany SAudrey HepburnThe Recession
Book:Gone Girl
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“She came towards me with a juicy gash between her legs that smelled like my best friend's sister" Just when I thought I'd escaped them all She comes reeling herself in pulling at my strings her hand quick to find my zipper She moaned the way a drunk old lady does And I wasn't even inside her yet "You don't have anywhere else to be," she managed to say... "My wounds have been reopened tonight already," I muttered I caught wind of the gully ...the part of her she once kept sacred as a Christian I smelled the information I lifted my hand into the air and hailed a cab He rolled down his window and saw her "Find another cab," he said, and sped off into the night I took her home because she said she was lonely really she was drunk off something some memory or some choice she walked funny... -one of her heels had broken On the couch I left her, Before I could go, she grabbed my cock I slapped her across the face and she pulled harder Her eyes stayed closed Her lips dripped Her grip clenched I wasn't getting out of this one unscathed "If I take my pants off, will you let me go?" I asked "If you take your pants off, I'll be suckin' that cock till you pass out from all the screamin'..." I slapped her again, because she needed it She laughed Saying her cousin beat her harder Saying her father knew how to really... ...make things happen I asked her what her father's number was Let's get his motherfucking self up here to take you away, that's what I said She said he died, or killed himself "What's the difference really," she said, chewing on her hair She let go of my cock on her own accord And she opened her eyes for a moment She closed them again And I could tell she was sleeping Her eyes opened once more Her face red where I'd hit her She tasted the blood on her lip "Do you think if we remind ourselves enough, we can make up for all the pain we've caused others?" I said to her, "We can't. All we can do is keep ourselves from all those who don't deserve it.”

BloodChildhoodAmbitionBraveryAutumnAlcoholismBoozeBarBottleBar Nights
Book:Strange Rainfall on the Rooftops of People Watchers: Poems and Stories
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“~Posters with torn edges hanging from rotten walls~ The doctor told me something once she said STOP DRINKING I slapped her across the face with this NO I walked right out of that office went right down to the hole I told the bartender WHISKEY, MOTHERFUCKER he poured and he poured and I slapped my money down on that bar the man I had been driving around with he just sort of sat there next to this hooker she probably had something rotten way down there between her legs her eyes told of no soul I emptied the bottle down my throat and ordered some chips the bartender told me THEY'RE STALE and I give him a I DON'T FUCKIN' CARE, GIVE ME SOMETHIN' He slid me a ham sandwich dripping with cheap low-fat mayo and said ENJOY I went back to my room and talked all night so much conversation it turned the toilet bowl pale”

DeathBloodAmbitionBraveryCynicalAlcoholismBoozeBarBottleBar Nights
Book:Strange Rainfall on the Rooftops of People Watchers: Poems and Stories
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“The door is cracked We used to meet like water does land no not that more like when skin touches skin kissing fingertips or when air escapes a lung and is felt across the world I've leapt over cracks in sidewalks and swallowed away troublesome back pains that could only be fixed with someone else's pills We met by your house one stray day and you drove me to the bay where we sat and kissed like it was yesterday And here you told me that you loved me and that you always loved me and that you would always love me the wind blew and I held you You rested your head on my shoulder and the wind blew warm Later, in your big red truck, we smoked some green and I kissed you harder and held your breasts, and felt between your legs and with a gasp you told me you were in love with me And then you drove me back and we promised it wouldn't be the end not this time The quill and inkwell on your foot I'm a writer and you are my greatest art I returned to my hell and dreamt of you once more”

BloodChildhoodAmbitionBraveryCynicalAgonyBoozeBarBottleBar Nights
Book:Strange Rainfall on the Rooftops of People Watchers: Poems and Stories
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“Can you go back to America and tell all your friends that I do NOT want to be rescued? All these Americans and Viet Kieus who come here thinking that they need to save us are so stupid. If you had to choose between working in a factory for twelve hours a day with bosses who don't let you rest and [who] look at you like they are raping you with their eyes, or working in a bar where you have a few drinks and sometimes spread you legs for a man, which would you choose? Why don't people go rescue factory workers? We are the ones who were not scared to leave factory work for sex work. We are smart hustlers [*nguoi chen lan*], not dumb, scared factory workers! —Trinh, twenty-four-year-old hostess in Lavender”

AmericaSexSex WorkBarSex WorkersFactory WorkersMisconceptionsFactoryHostessFactory Work
Book:Dealing in Desire: Asian Ascendancy, Western Decline, and the Hidden Currencies of Global Sex Work
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“Corrigan crept up to the bar, cautiously moving around it. It looked like he was copying all the moves he’d seen in old cop movies and westerns, and doing it rather badly. He lowered the pistol. There was no one behind the bar. There was however, an open trapdoor. And that would mean the bounty hunter was - . “Don’t move!” Came Beck’s distant, slightly muffled, barked order. “My turn, I think!”

OrderThinkOneMoveAroundHunterBarTurnWouldPistolDistantWesternsHoweverLookedBadlyMuffledCorriganLoweredTrapdoor
Book:Black Sunrise
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“The whiskey was a good start. I got the idea from Dylan Thomas. He's this poet who drank twenty-one straight whiskeys at the White Horse Tavern in New York and then died on the spot from alcohol poisoning. I've always wanted to hear the bartender's side of the story. What was it like watching this guy drink himself out of here? How did it feel handing him number twenty-one and watching his face crumple up before the fall of the stool? And did he already have number twenty-two poured, waiting for this big fat tip, and then have to drink it himself after whoever came took the body away?”

DeathNew YorkSadThoughtsTragedySuicideWineDrinkingAlcoholTragicAlcoholismWhiskeySuicidal ThoughtsBartenderTipsAlcohol AddictionBarDylan Thomas
Book:Suicide Notes
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“The honky-tonk bartender, who doubled as bouncer, waiter, and cashier, was in no mood to compromise. Mercy was not in him. He came out around the open end of the long counter, waddled threatening across the floor in a sullen, red-faced fury and began to shake the inanimate figure lying across the table with its head bedded on its arms. "Hey, you! Do your sleeping in the gutter!" If you gave these bums an inch; they took a yard. And this one was a particularly glaring example of the genus bar-fly. He was in here all the time like this, inhaling smoke and then doing a sunset across the table. He'd been in here since four this afternoon. The boss and he, who were partners in the joint - the bartender called it jernt - would have been the last ones to claim they were running a Rainbow Room, but at least they were trying to give the place a little class, keep it above the level of a Bowery smoke-house; they even paid a guy to pound the piano and a canary to warble three times a week. And then bums like this had to show up and give the place a bad look! He shook the recumbent figure again, more roughly than the first time. Shook him so violently that the whole reedy table under him rattled and threatened to collapse. "Come on, clear out, I said! Pay me for what you had and get outa here!" ("I'm Dangerous Tonight")”

DrunkBartenderBarBumsBarflyBum S Rush
Book:The Fantastic Stories of Cornell Woolrich
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“Hi, Lloyd, a little slow tonight isn't it?' Lloyd said it was. Lloyd asked him what would it be. 'Now I'm really glad you asked me that, really glad. Because I happen to have two twenties and two tens in my wallet and I was afraid they'd be sitting right there until sometime next April. There isn't a 7-Eleven around here, would you believe it? And I thought they had 7-Elevens on the fucking moon.' Lloyd sympathized. 'So here's what, you set me up an even twenty martinis...One for every month I've been on the wagon and one to grow on. You can do that, can't you? You aren't too busy? Lloyd said he wasn't busy at all. 'Good man. You line those martinis up right along the bar and I'm going to take them down, one by one. White man's burden, Lloyd my man.' Lloyd turned to do the job. Jack reached into his pocket for the money clip and came out with an Excedrin bottle instead. 'I seem to be momentarily light,' Jack said. 'How's my credit in this joint, anyhow?' Lloyd said his credit was fine. 'That's super. I like you, Lloyd. You were always the best of them. Best damned barkeep between Barre and Portland, Maine. Portland, Oregon for that matter.”

HorrorBartenderBarKubrick
Book:THE SHINING
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“Need 'nother whiskey. Whiskey chaser. Gotta get two men drunk." Mr. Cohan placed both hands on the bar. "Mr. Walsh," he said severely, "in Gavagan's we will serve a man a drink to wet his whistle, or even because his old woman has pasted him with a dornick, but a drink to get drunk with I do not sell. Now I'm telling you you've had enough for tonight, and in the morning you'll be thanking me..." ("My Brother's Keeper")”

DrinkingAlcoholDrunkBarTavern
Book:Tales from Gavagan's Bar
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“At the Saleve, the stove is drawing badly. This and the stale tobacco, rough wine and a perpetual acrid pungency (disinfectant or vomit, or both) are almost intolerable. But there’s that tingling you’ve only got to register once: within two seconds it gets you at the back of your throat, and then immediately diffuses like a drop of oil. A sudden and surprising sweetness. Breathe in through your mouth, out through your nose. That’s it. You’re hooked. Someone here is smoking hashish.”

BarHashishTavern
Book:Paris Noir: The Secret History of a City
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“His colleagues at the Bar called him Filth, but not out of irony. It was because he was considered to be the source of the old joke, Failed In London Try Hong Kong. It was said that he had fled the London Bar, very young, very poor, on a sudden whim just after the War, and had done magnificently well in Hong Kong from the start. Being a modest man, they said, he had called himself a parvenu, a fraud, a carefree spirit. Filth in fact was no great maker of jokes, was not at all modest about his work and seldom, except in great extremity, went in for whims. He was loved, however, admired, laughed at kindly and still much discussed many years after retirement.”

Hong KongBar
Book:Old Filth
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“The one plentiful herds of magazine writers would continue to be culled - by the Internet, by the recession, by the American public, who would rather watch TV or play video games or electronically inform friends that, like, 'rain sucks!' But there's no app for a bourbon buzz on a warm day in a cool, dark bar. The world will always want a drink.”

ChangeTechnologyDrinkingAlcoholSarcasmNew AgeChangesThe PastAmericansElectronicsTvThe FutureBourbonVideo GamesBarRecessionThe InternetElectronic RevolutionElectronic BooksThe PublicThe RecessionA DrinkElectronic Software
Book:Gone Girl
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“Last call. It was about that time. He’d probably been drinking liquid courage all night, waiting for his chance to hit on her. I had little choice in assuming he was a three-time loser with a wad-of-cash to wave around and a bozo smile to boot. About to prate his many accomplishments as a man of the world and his travels among the world’s top markets.”

PassionsForlornBarShow OffBankerLiquid CouragePoseursDay TraderLast CallPrating
Book:Forlorn Passions
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“We took a short ride on the Oedo line and surfaced near a sashimi-oriented izakaya called Uoshin. The upstairs counter snaked through the room so everyone could have a seat at the bar, and tucked into nooks at various parts of the arrangement were white-coated chefs, each with a knife and a wooden board full of freshly sliced sashimi. We ordered a few selections from the board, and then Mark, who is apparently one of those wiry guys with a boundless appetite, started calling for cooked food; gesoyaki (grilled squid tentacles, one of my favorites), tamagoyaki (seasoned rolled omelet, and yellow-tail teriyaki, all of which were exceptionally good, especially the meaty broiled yellowtail with its sweet and salty glaze.”

SeafoodBarJapanese CuisineSashimiIzakaya
Book:Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo
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“Raffe lifted the latch on the heavy door and sidled in. As usal, he gagged as he took his first breath in the cloying, fishy stink of the smoke that rose from the burning seabirds, which were skewered on to the wall spikes in place of candles. In the dim oily light, he could make out the vague outlines of men sitting in twos and threes around the tables, heard the muttered conversations, but could no more recognize a face than see his own feet in the shadows. A square, brawny woman deposited a flagon and two leather beakers on a table before waddling across to Raffe. Pulling his head down towards hers, she planted a generous kiss on his smooth cheek. Thought you'd left us,' she said reprovingly. You grown tired of my eel pic?' How could anyone grow tired of a taste of heaven?' Raffe said, throwing his arm around her plump shoulders and squeezing her. The woman laughed, a deep, honest belly chuckle that set her pendulous breasts quivering. Raffe loved her for that. 'He's over there, your friend,' she murmured. 'Been wait ing a good long while.' Raffe nodded his thanks and crossed to the table set into a dark alcove, sliding on to the narrow bench. Even in the dirty mustard light he could recognize Talbot's broken nose and thickened ears. Talbot looked up from the rim of his beaker and grunted. By way of greeting he pushed the half-empty flagon of ale towards Raffe. Raffe waited until the serving woman had set a large portion of eel pie in front of him and retreated out of earshot. He hadn't asked for food, no one ever needed to here. In the Fisher's Inn you ate and drank whatever was put in front of you and you paid for it too. The marsh and river were far too close for arguments, and the innkeeper was a burly man who had beaten his own father to death when he was only fourteen, so rumour had it, for taking a whip to him once too often. Opinion was divided on whether the boy or the father deserved what they suffered at each other's hands, but still no one in those parts would have dreamed of report ing the killing. And since the innkeeper's father lay rotting somewhere at the bottom of the deep, sucking bog, he wasn't in a position to complain.”

AlcoholBarsDrunkPubsBarPubGrimeyWatering Holes
Book:The Gallows Curse
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“Grow your talents and skills through a consistent practice and progressive learning. Learn to relearn and unlearn. Raise the bar for yourself always.”

InspirationalMotivationalGrowthProgressGreatnessSkillsIncreaseExcellenceFood For ThoughtIsraelmore AyivorPersonal DevelopmentImprovementExcellentGreatProgressiveLearnGrowSkillfulSkillInspirationsUnlearnImproveExcelMotivationsBarRaise The BarRelearnGrow Great
Book:Become a Better You
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“While I struggled with the menu, a handsome middle-aged guy from a nearby table came over to help. "You like sashimi? Cooked fish? Sushi?" he asked. His English was excellent. He was originally from Okinawa, he said, and a member of Rotary International. I know nothing about the Rotarians except that it's a service organization; helping befuddled foreigners order food in bars must fall within its definition of charitable service. Our service-oriented neighbor helped us order pressed sweetfish sushi, kisu fish tempura, and butter-sauteed scallops. Dredging up a vague Oishinbo memory, I also ordered broiled sweetfish, a seasonal delicacy said to taste vaguely of melon. While we started in on our sushi, our waitress- the kind of harried diner waitress who would call customers "hon" in an American restaurant- delivered a huge, beautiful steamed flounder with soy sauce, mirin, and chunks of creamy tofu. "From that guy," she said, indicating the Rotarian samaritan. We retaliated with a large bottle of beer for him and his friend (the friend came over to thank us, with much bowing). What would happen at your neighborhood bar if a couple of confused foreigners came in with a child and didn't even know how to order a drink? Would someone send them a free fish? I should add that it's not exactly common to bring children to an izakaya, but it's not frowned upon, either; also, not every izakaya is equally welcoming. Some, I have heard, are more clubby and are skeptical of nonregulars, whatever their nationality. But I didn't encounter any places like that. Oh, how was the food? So much of the seafood we eat in the U.S., even in Seattle, is previously frozen, slightly past its prime, or both. All of the seafood at our local izakaya was jump-up-and-bite-you fresh. This was most obvious in the flounder and the scallops. A mild fish, steamed, lightly seasoned, and served with tofu does not sound like a recipe for memorable eating, but it was. The butter-sauteed scallops, meanwhile, would have been at home at a New England seaside shack. They were served with a lettuce and tomato salad and a dollop of mayo. The shellfish were cooked and seasoned perfectly. I've never had a better scallop.”

SeafoodSushiBarRotaryPubIzakayaHachiScallop
Book:Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo
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“Cool. I know an awesome spot called Henry’s. They have the absolute best beer selections and the wings are great. They also have darts and pool.” Furi stopped talking when he noticed Syn looking a little pale. “Hey, what’s up?” “Uh, nothing.” They were in Syn’s old faithful truck and Furi sat silently watching the man next to him. “We going or what?” Furi narrowed his eyes, staring at the side of Syn’s face. His jaw was clenched and his neck was flushed. What the hell? “Yeah. Let’s go.” “Okay.” Syn thought he was going to be sick. It was just his goddamn luck that Furi would suggest the one place where half the department liked to hang out. Hell, even his Lieutenants frequented this place. It would be cruel to subject Furi to Day’s inappropriateness so soon. Syn wasn’t necessarily afraid of being with a man; he just wasn’t the type to make his personal life public. Or am I scared? Fuck. Syn didn’t think Furi would go for keeping them a secret. The man had made that quite clear when they were in the alley. Syn gripped the steering wheel and willed his foot to press the accelerator. Maybe … just maybe, there wouldn’t be anyone familiar there. Syn drove under the speed limit and felt Furious’ probing eyes on the side of his face. He tried to smile and keep his jaw from showing his nervous tick. Despite his efforts, they got there in what felt like record time. Furious got out and waited for Syn to slowly make his way toward the entrance. “Are you sure everything is alright?” Furious asked, annoyed. “I’m good. Really. Good. Perfect,” Syn said, mentally kicking himself for sounding like an idiot. Furi took his hand in his and it took every ounce of Syn's willpower not to pull his hand back. Of course he’d be into PDA. Furious pulled open the door and walked in as if he hadn’t a care in the world. It was almost nine p.m. and the though it wasn’t packed, there were quite a few people there. Syn tried not to look around, keeping his eyes on the back of Furious’ head as he led them to a booth; thankfully located in the back of the bar, where it was a little bit darker. Syn made sure to sit so he was facing the door while Furi sat opposite of him. Furi didn’t speak. He picked up one of the menus and started to look through it. “First time out with a man?” Syn's head snapped his up from hiding behind his menu. “Uh. Yeah, but ya know.” “No, I don’t know,” Furi answered quickly. “If you didn’t want to come out, why didn’t you just say so? You look like you're about to pull a disguise out of your coat. Or do you plan to just stay hidden behind your menu all fucking evening?” “Furious.” “Although that’s going to make eating really difficult. Should I be prepared for you to fake a stomach ache?” “Enough,” Syn barked, Furious’ dark eyes widening at his tone. “Look, cut me some slack alright? I am not new to dating men. I’m new to dating: period. Just about all of my adult life I’ve focused on being a cop, a damn good cop. I had little time for anything else in my life including dates. Dating takes time and patience, two things I didn't have. I was prepared to accept being alone the rest of my life until I saw you. I wanted you, and I was more than willing to take the time and effort to be with you. So forgive me if I don’t do everything exactly right on our first date.” “I’m not expecting you to. I haven’t dated in years myself. But one thing I’m not concerned about is being ashamed.” Furi looked Syn dead in the eye. Syn didn’t have a chance to respond, the waitress came to set a pail of peanuts on the table. Speaking in a cheerful voice: “What can I get you guys to drink?”

DateBarSynFuri
Author:A.E. Via
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“You don’t want none of this, man. Stay out of it.” Preppy looked around Syn, obviously wanting some more of Furious. “Maybe I do.” Syn looked bored and then thought for a second. If he broke this kid’s jaw, that could be his damn promotion. Just when the kid looked like he wanted to start something, Syn pulled his badge. “Maybe a night in lock-up will get you to shut the fuck up.” Syn heard the guy he punched groaning and looked at him, not wanting to find himself attacked from behind too. What he was surprised to not find was Furious. Syn pulled out his cell and called 911, he gave his name and badge number and told dispatch he had a few drunk and disorderlies that needed clearing out. Syn desperately wanted to find Furious. He knew the man was alright. Surely he was able to take a gut punch, but he wanted to talk to him. Syn knew he may have already fucked up. Without thinking, he’d pushed Furi behind him like he couldn’t defend himself. But when Syn saw the pain of that punch flash over the man’s beautiful face, his protective instincts rose with a vengeance and he’d acted. He looked back and forth from the bar, to the door, to the college assholes, wanting to run and find Furi, but he couldn’t leave his perps unattended until the uniforms got there.”

FightBarSynFuri
Author:A. E. Via
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“So he stopped at the first of them, a frigid hothouse whose front tipped forward over the street in defiance of gravity, taste, and ordinance; inside, the tender daytime flowers could be seen huddling in family groups beneath a constant, unseen sun, and behind them was the hermetic door to the dark Cactus Room where the shy nocturnal plants, genus cereus, could bloom in privacy at any hour. Vivien, once out of the car, appeared less constrained. She did not have that stiffness so many have on first entering bars, that air of waiting stubbornly for alcohol to loosen them, which so often presages their manner when it comes' time for bed. She was already excited when the martinis came.”

BarMartinisAlcohoil
Book:Wall to Wall
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“You are heading towards the top if you raise the bar of your standards inch by inch each hour! There is no quick way to success; it comes in installments. Every day's activity is a minor contribution to a heavy pay of success. Don't waste the day!”

SuccessActivityWasteStandardsFood For ThoughtIsraelmore AyivorMoving ForwardContributionKeep GoingImproveTopBarRaising The BarHourRaise The BarMinorInstallDon T Waste The DayInch By InchInstallmentHeavy PayMinor Contribution
Book:The Great Hand Book of Quotes
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“Alma focused. She went behind the tall wood-carved bar and straightened the tequila bottles. She loved the colors and designs of the containers--- brightly colored, some were even hand-painted. Her favorite bottle was a white ceramic one painted with intricate blue leaves. The shape of the bottle resembled the curves of a woman, and the liquor itself was just as robust, just as refined--- truly the intersection of quality and art. She signaled her bar manager, Lupe, to turn the music on, to which Lupe quickly obliged. The melodic sounds of one of her favorite Spanish ballads filled the air; the singer's deep baritone voice almost as intoxicating as the liquor in the place. Almost. A waft from the kitchen danced through her nostrils. Though this was a tequila bar, Mezcalifornia was known for its happy hour. They served mostly the usual fare that you would expect--- small carnitas street tacos, fresh-charred corn dressed with a tangy garlic sauce and garnished with cotija cheese, mini ahi tostadas, and of course, guacamole. She hadn't wanted a typical sit-down restaurant with gourmet food and a wine list. Been there, done that. No. She wanted a vibe. A destination. An experience.”

BottlesEmployeesBarTequilaMexican FoodMusicaBusinesswomanCantina
Book:My Fair Señor
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