The pleasure we hold in esteem for the course of our lives ought to have a greater share of our time dedicated to it; we should refuse no occasion nor omit any opportunity of drinking, and always have it in our minds.

There was a great deal of drinking among us but little drunkenness. We all seemed to feel that Prohibition was a personal affront and that we had a moral duty to undermine it.

That which the sober man keeps in his breast, the drunken man lets out at the lips. Astute people, when they want to ascertain a man’s true character, make him drunk.

Moderation in all things.

As far as I can see, the history of experimental art in the twentieth century is intimately bound up with the experience of intoxification.

My advice to people today is as follows: if you take the game of life seriously, if you take your nervous system seriously, if you take your sense organs seriously, if you take the energy process seriously, you must turn on, tune in, and drop out.

Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

Sex and drugs and rock and roll.

A man who exposes himself when he is intoxicated has not the art of getting drunk.

I mean, why on earth (outside sickness and hangovers) aren’t people continually drunk? I want ecstasy of the mind all the time.

Drinking with women is as unnatural as scolding with ’em.

People who’ve drunk neat wine don’t care a damn.