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

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

That which the sober man keeps in his breast, the drunken man lets out at the lips. Astute people, when they want to ascertain a man’s true character, make him drunk.

A man who exposes himself when he is intoxicated has not the art of getting drunk.

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

To live on a day-to-day basis is insufficient for human beings; we need to transcend, transport, escape; we need meaning, understanding, and explanation.

A true German can’t stand the French, / Yet willingly he drinks their wines.

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

Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences.

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

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.

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.

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