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

Life isn’t all beer and skittles, but beer and skittles, or something better of the same sort, must form a good part of every Englishman’s education.

Drink does not drown care but waters it, and makes it grow faster.

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

Modern life is often a mechanical oppression, and liquor is the only mechanical relief.

Drunkenness is the very sepulcher / Of man’s wit and his discretion.

Sex and drugs and rock and roll.

Under the pressure of the cares and sorrows of our mortal condition, men have at all times and in all countries, called in some physical aid to their moral consolations—wine, beer, opium, brandy, or tobacco.

I have sometimes thought that the laws ought not to punish those actions of evil which are committed when the senses are steeped in intoxication.

Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need—a homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends worth the name, someone to love and someone to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink; for thirst is a dangerous thing.

As he brews, so shall he drink.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

Drugs, cataplasms, and whiskey are stupid substitutes for the dignity and potency of divine mind and its efficacy to heal.