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.

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

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.

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.

The drunken man is a living corpse.

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.

Moderation in all things.

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.

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.

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

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

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