If I "savor" a wine, do I savor its sensations, or its chemistry?

If you savor a wine it's because you have a tongue first, a brain second, and a language third. Where's the beauty? Taste and thought. In vino veritas, of course, but always in moderation.

Yes, Keats is dead. And so is Shakespeare, and Lincoln, and Gandhi.

Yes, and so are Marlowe, Polk, and Nehru. "Is there in truth no beauty?" is an ambiguous sentence. I leave it for you to contemplate over a glass of Beaujolais Nouveau.

Oh, and lest you think I am angry: