Give me chastity and continence, but not just now.

The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we’d get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. Probably at the next gas station.

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

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

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

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

Drink does not drown care but waters it, and makes it grow faster.

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.

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.

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.

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

Moderation in all things.