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.

Alcohol is the monarch of liquids.

The drunken man is a living corpse.

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.

I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to, too.

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

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

Thanks be to God: since my leaving drinking of wine, I do find myself much better and do mind my business better, and do spend less money, and less time lost in idle company.

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

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.

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.

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

Give me chastity and continence, but not just now.