Alcohol is the monarch of liquids.

There are two things that will be believed of any man whatsoever, and one of them is that he has taken to drink.

There was a great deal of drinking among us but little drunkenness. We all seemed to feel that Prohibition was a personal affront and that we had a moral duty to undermine it.

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.

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

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.

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.

Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences.

Sobriety diminishes, discriminates, and says no; drunkenness expands, unites, and says yes.

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.

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

Give me chastity and continence, but not just now.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.