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

Alcohol is the monarch of liquids.

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

Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences.

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

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

Drinking with women is as unnatural as scolding with ’em.

The drunken man is a living corpse.

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

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

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

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.

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