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

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

The drunken man is a living corpse.

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

Alcohol is the monarch of liquids.

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

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.

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

There are two things that will be believed of any man whatsoever, and one of them is that he has taken to drink.

I am sure of this: that if everybody was to drink their bottle a day, there would not be half the disorders in the world there are now.

As he brews, so shall he drink.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

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