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

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

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

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.

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

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.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

Alcohol is the monarch of liquids.

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.

Sex and drugs and rock and roll.

My advice to people today is as follows: if you take the game of life seriously, if you take your nervous system seriously, if you take your sense organs seriously, if you take the energy process seriously, you must turn on, tune in, and drop out.

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.