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.

The drunken man is a living corpse.

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

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

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

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.

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.

As he brews, so shall he drink.

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.

Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

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

I have sometimes thought that the laws ought not to punish those actions of evil which are committed when the senses are steeped in intoxication.