To taste wine is essentially as to taste the elusiveness of time, so objective judgements are here the less justified. Of course its structure, milieu, menu, to which the wine is given, all this can be organized and repetitive, while the taste experience will always be another approximation of the Absolute, and attempts to describe – although their specific language – will always be Poetry, Art, for only the Art can attempt to describe the transience. As I repeat, only happy people can drink wine, the happiness resulting from the ability to experience the world in its lifetime events ensures that the alcohol contained in the wine, providing an undeniable euphoria, would not steal the soul and would keep the right distance. The smell of wine (and today I have been drinking wine with the scent of grapes) is like the smell of a woman, as elusive and changeable and equally intense at the moment of true intimacy. Happy people are able to find a moment in the wine, while people who drink wine to cast off the time cannot find such a moment, because they kill the time fleeing from reality into the bewilderment, and the life does not need any bewilderment, for the life in itself can bewilder.