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— Lynn Viehl"Yours is... il sent comme lavande." Is that French for 'You stink'?" It means 'lavender'." Huh." She sniffed at her wrist. "I thought I smelled more like a grape Popsicle."
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Mr. D, wearing his leopard-skin jogging suit and rummaging through the refrigerator. He looked up lazily. "Do you mind?" Where's Chiron!" I shouted. How rude." Mr. D took a swig from a jug of grape juice. "Is that how you say hello?" Hello," I amended. "We're about to die! Where's Chiron?
— Rick Riordan
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None who has known the charity of wine, Its pity, the cool logic of its spell Will waver in his loyalty, or dwell In any heaven where the grape lacks a shrine.
— Donald Evans
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