If they asked, he told them.
"The kind used at the marriage feast at Cana in Galilee, when the supply of an inferior quality had failed.

This, my friends, is pure water, wholesome, refreshing, and not costly.

I drink it from glass which gives to it the colour of the juice of the grape, partly in order that my guests may not feel chilled in their own enjoyment of more gay and luscious beverage; partly because I enjoy the emblem.
"The gifts of circumstance, life, and nature, vary, not so much in themselves, as in the human vessels which contain them.

If the heart be a ruby goblet, the humblest form of pure love filling it, will assume the rich tint and fervour of romance.

If the mind be, in itself, a thing of vivid tints and glowing colours, the dullest thought within it will take on a lustre, a sparkle, a glow of brilliancy.
Thus, whensoever men or matters seem to me dull or wearisome, to myself I say: 'Symon! Thou art this day, thyself, a pewter pot.'" Then the Bishop would fill up his goblet and hold it to the light.
"Aye, the best wine!" he would say.