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

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.

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.

Sex and drugs and rock and roll.

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

Alcohol is the monarch of liquids.

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.

Moderation in all things.

The pleasure we hold in esteem for the course of our lives ought to have a greater share of our time dedicated to it; we should refuse no occasion nor omit any opportunity of drinking, and always have it in our minds.

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.

I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to, too.

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

The drunken man is a living corpse.