As he brews, so shall he drink.

The drunken man is a living corpse.

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

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.

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.

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

Drink today and drown all sorrow; / You shall perhaps not do it tomorrow.

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

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

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

Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences.

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.

Sex and drugs and rock and roll.