Sex and drugs and rock and roll.

The drunken man is a living corpse.

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

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.

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.

An old man is twice a child, and so is a drunken man.

If you were to ask me if I’d ever had the bad luck to miss my daily cocktail, I’d have to say that I doubt it; where certain things are concerned, I plan ahead.

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

As he brews, so shall he drink.

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

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

Moderation in all things.

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