“Polypharmacology and curmudgeonliness were keeping her alive.”

“Pinot Noir country. My grape. The one varietal that truly enchants me, both stills and steals my heart with its elusive loveliness and false promises of transcendence. I loved her, and I would continue to follow her siren call until my wallet--or liver, whichever came first--gave out.”

“I can't kill myself, I thought. I'm too insignificant. I'm nothing. I'm a thumbprint on the first-floor window of a skyscraper, a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to sea along with millions of tons of raw sewage, a squirrel eating a nut as a car bore down on him.”

“I forced a swift smile, then turned back to my glass, salvation and sanctuary viniferously bundled into one.”

“I tapped a forefinger to my temple and raised my glass of single-vineyard Foxen Pinot. "Between here and here lies the Rubicon of the imagination.”

“Wine is so complex, I mused. Thousands of experts and hundreds of thousands of amateur experts would rhapsodize or vilify the vinification of these seemingly simple bunches of grapes. But in the end, it was just these innocuous clusters, photosynthesis, rain or no rain, cool ocean breezes, alluvial soils, that produced these epiphanies in the bottle hundreds and thousands of miles away.”

“Miles, it's only morning and you're already drunk.""No, I'm not," I weakly protested. "I'm just thirsty.”