A true German can’t stand the French, / Yet willingly he drinks their wines.

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.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

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.

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

Whoever gulps down wine as a horse gulps down water is called a Scythian.

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

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.

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

As he brews, so shall he drink.

To live on a day-to-day basis is insufficient for human beings; we need to transcend, transport, escape; we need meaning, understanding, and explanation.

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.