O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!" - Cassio (Act II, Scene iii)
Quart of whiskey a day for months working hard on a long poem. Wife hiding bottles, myself hiding bottles. Murderous and suicidal. Many hospitalizations, many alibis.
I thought for a change I would give up drinking, and it was a great mistake, and, although I reduced the size of my nose and improved my beauty, my stomach suffered.
Have you ever wondered why the slang terms for intoxication are so demolition-oriented? Stoned, smashed, hammered. It's because they're talking about the Ego. It's the Ego that gets blasted, waxed, plastered.
A tavern chair is the throne of human felicity.
When all is said and done, no literature can outdo the cynicism of real life; you won't intoxicate with one glass someone who has already drunk up a whole barrel.
Milk is for babies. When you grow up you have to drink beer.
Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken.
Drunkenness is simply voluntary insanity.
Beer, it's the best damn drink in the world.
You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.
All excess is ill; but drunkenness is of the worst sort. It spoils health, dismounts the mind, and unmans men. It reveals secrets, is quarrelsome, lascivious, impudent, dangerous, and mad.
Of course one should not drink much, but often.
Drunkenness is never anything but a substitute for happiness.
An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.
My rule of life prescribed as an absolutely sacred rite smoking cigars and also the drinking of alcohol before, after and if need be during all meals and in the intervals between them.
No animal ever invented anything as bad as drunkenness - or so good as drink.
Quickly, bring me a beaker of wine, so that I may wet my mind and say something clever.
And if I drink oblivion of a day, / So shorten I the stature of my soul.
The drunkard forfeits man and doth divest All wordly right, save what he hath by beast.
The secret of drunkenness is, that it insulates us in thought, whilst it unites us in feeling.
Oh! if you could only hear Intemperance with drunkards' bones drumming on the top of the wine cask the Dead March of immortal souls, you would go home and kneel down and pray God that rather than your children should ever become the victims of this evil habit, you might carry them out to Greenwood and put them down in the last slumber, waiting for the flowers of spring to come over the grave-sweet prophecies of the resurrection. God hath a balm for such a Wound, but what flower of comfort ever grew on the blasted heath of a drunkard's sepulcher?
All pictures that's painted with sense and with thought / Are painted by madmen as sure as a groat; / For the greater the fool in the pencil more blest, / And when they are drunk they always paint best.
Of all vices take heed of drunkenness; other vices are but fruits of disordered affections--this disorders, nay, banishes reason; other vices but impair the soul--this demolishes her two chief faculties, the understanding and the will; other vices make their own way--this makes way for all vices; he that is a drunkard is qualified for all vice.
The earth is convulsed with a universal sob, and the roads are muddy with tears. But I do not call to mind a more touching picture of unavailing misery and ruin, and hopeless chaos, than the plug hat that has endeavored to keep sober and maintain self-respect while its owner was drunk.
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