Best 797 quotes in «drunk quotes» category

At that moment we caught sight of a drunken man, reeling along at the far end of the street. With head thrust forward, arms dangling, and nerveless legs, he advanced towards us by short rushes of three, six, or ten rapid steps, followed by a pause. After a brief spasm of energy, he found himself in the middle of the street, where he stopped dead, swaying on his feet, hesitating between a fall and a fresh burst of activity. Suddenly he made off in a new direction. He ran up against a house, and clung to the wall as if to force his way through it. Then, with a start, he turned round, and gazed in front of him, open-mouthed, his eyes blinking in the sun. With a movement of the hips, he jerked his back away from the wall and continued on his way. A small yellow dog, a half-starved mongrel, followed him barking, halting when he halted, and moving when he moved. ‘Look,’ said Marambot, ‘there’s one of Madame Husson’s Rose-kings'.

Beer is man's drink. Water is God's drink. Wine is everyone's drink. Whiskey is the Devil's soup.

Being loud after drinking wine doesn't help. Being silent after drinking wine doesn't help. Nothing really ever gets solved either way.

Better to be high on life than drunk on words.

Ben, there are more important things going on,” I answered. “DESIGNATED DRIVER!” “What?” “You’re my designated driver! Yes! You are so designated! I love that you answered! That’s so awesome! I have to be home by six! And I designate you to get me there! YESSSSSSS!” “Can’t you just spend the night there?” I asked. “NOOOO! Booooo. Booo on Quentin. Hey, everybody! Boooo Quentin!” And then I was booed. “Everybody’s drunk. Ben drunk. Lacey drunk. Radar drunk. Nobody drive. Home by six. Promised Mom. Boo, Sleepy Quentin! Yay, Designated Driver! YESSSS!

Berg, while the go-to guy for decisions for past campaigns, engaged in frequent and successful battles against sobriety.

By drinking, a boy acts like a man. After drinking, many a man acts like a boy.

Buddy eyed me closely. His eyes were filigreed with red. I watched as he went through one of those instantaneous mood swings that only drunks and menstruating women can manage.

But I was still determined to protect her. It might be the one good thing I would ever do in my life. I wondered if God would even notice.

By three in the afternoon, after one Bintang too many, I was absolutely smashed and feared that trying to stand may end badly.

Brandy or beer? Waters a good idea.

But I did not return until half past four this morning and I distinctly remember stubbing my toe on the stairs. I am as drunk as a skunk, Drumknott, which of course means skunks are just as drunk as I. I must say the term is unfamiliar to me, and I had not thought hitherto of skunks in this context, but Mustrum Ridcully was kind enough to enlighten me.

By the first mouthful I knew that I was going to get drunk that night. The drink tasted too good not to.

‘Can’t you see what they are?’ I said. ‘They’re all dead.’

Danny strolled to the town common, sat on one of the benches in Teenytown and took one of the bottles out of the bag, looking down on it like Hamlet with Yorick's skull

Come, let's get drunk, even if it is our ruin: For sometimes under ruins one finds treasure.

Common sense got drunk and giddy when Olivia was on the premises. Maybe he should just raise a glass, too, and dub reason a lost cause.

Did you beat me with a hammer while I was sleeping?" "No," "Then why do I feel like this?" She still hadn't moved from her spot on the floor. "Apparently you can't hold your Sprite, buddy.

Did you ever think it won’t be the undead who kill us, but ordinary people?

Don't drive a car in the dream, else you won't drive it on earth. Don't wish to become, else you won't become. Don't associate with fools, else your ancestors will be insulted. Don't be addicted to wine, else your pocket will be empty. Don't be drunk, else you'll be attacked.

Drinking myself blind seemed like the next logical step.

Drink wine in new cities. Forget that you were ever intoxicated by the vowels of his name.

Drunkenness - that fierce rage for the slow, sure poison, that oversteps every other consideration; that casts aside wife, children, friends, happiness, and station; and hurries its victims madly on to degradation and death.

Drunk words are sober thoughts

...drunks and leggings always tell the truth.

Drunks are subjected to hysterics. Sometimes they are very angry such that they can beat their spouse without any mistake of hers; sometimes they're so happy that they won't even mind if the worst of the enemies insults them.

Dude, don’t die out here.

Drive. He’s already dead.

‘Eighth one this week,’ he said.

Having drunk the dregs of Your Love, I am intoxicated beyond recognition. Now, I only pray for the nearness of You so I may advance in my annihilation.

[Ella] “Again, I ask, whose side are you on?” [Lola] “The side that has the least Dorito-flavored vomit on the floor after the party.

For an instant I saw before me the young girl this used to be.

For one thing, it had suddenly come to Natalie that when people were sober they repudiated everything they had done when they were drunk, and when they were drunk they repudiated everything they had done when they were sober.

Glancing at the bottle of tequila in Tate’s hand, Logan questioned much more calmly than he felt, “How full was that?” Tate lifted the quarter-empty bottle and shrugged. “Unopened. Why?

He came of a race of drinkers who look contemptuously upon an alcoholic content of twelve percent, unaware that the fermented grape works its enchantments more subtly than the distilled spirits of grain. I do not imply that he was drunk; let us say, rather, that the Tears of Christ opened his heart.

Even now I can’t describe the fear that contaminated my blood like black ink.

excuse my enthusiasm or rather madness, for I am really drunk with intellectual vision whenever I take a pencil or graver into my hand.

For sensible men I prepare only three kraters: one for health (which they drink first), the second for love and pleasure, and the third for sleep. After the third one is drained, wise men go home. The fourth krater is not mine any more - it belongs to bad behaviour; the fifth is for shouting; the sixth is for rudeness and insults; the seventh is for fights; the eighth is for breaking the furniture; the ninth is for depression; the tenth is for madness and unconsciousness.

Friendship isn't partying with a group of people to get drunk or chatting with him/her once a week, it's exactly the opposite. Friends make sure you get home safely and they help you when you need it, no matter the scenario. They don't care about what clothes you wear or what you look like, and they don't last for a day. Real friends are more interested in what direction your life is headed rather than your popularity. They care about what you have to say and how you feel, and once you meet this person you'll know it without having to think twice.

Getting drunk with success and sick with ambition only leads to one route; destruction!

God could no longer see the faces of the men, only red and orange hazes. He heard taunting voices in his mind spurring him on, calling him a “pussy,” and old, hairy hands reaching out to grab him. His gripped tightened on the punk’s neck and he cocked his right arm back ready to do some serious damage. “Let him go.” God shook his head at the familiar deep voice. “I said, let him go now!” He felt two strong hands land on his shoulders and heat seeped its way into him from behind. “Put him down, God. Right now before you kill him. Listen to my voice.” Day was up on his tiptoes speaking into his ear. His breath was hot on his neck and it gave him a tingling in his spine. “Cashel, stop,” Day whispered. God put his right arm down and released the man from his grip. He didn’t wait to see the man’s body drop. He spun around and looked into his friend’s eyes, and was relieved when he didn’t see judgment, sorrow, or pity…all he saw was relief and then concern. Day grabbed him and held on to him tightly. His embrace was strong and confident…exactly what God needed to feel right then. “Come on, we gotta get out of here.” Day gripped the back of his arm and moved them quickly out of the alley and into a waiting taxi. “Wait…my truck.” “It’s taken care of.” Day kept him from getting out of the vehicle. “What do you mean?” “I mean you owe me two hundred dollars because that’s what I just paid the bartender to follow us back to my place in your truck.” God spun around and saw his huge truck’s headlights behind them. “You have a stranger driving my truck…my fucking guns are in there, Leo.” “You should’ve thought about that earlier, Cash,” Day growled right back. “If you’re going to lecture me, Leo…fucking save it.” God slid down farther and let his aching head rest on the back of the seat as the cab accelerated onto the highway. “You know me better than that, Cash. I’m not going to lecture you. I’m going to kick your ass,” Day said matter-of-factly and turned to look out the window. Neither one said anything else the rest of the ride.

He had suddenly felt that wealth, and power, and life - all that people arrange and preserve with such care - all this, if it is worth anything, is only so because of the pleasure with which one can abandon it all. It was that feeling on account of which a volunteer recruit drinks up his last kopeck, a man on a drunken binge smashes mirrors and windows without any apparent reason and knowing it will cost him his last penny; that feeling on account of which a man does (in the banal sense) insane things, as if testing his personal power and strength, claiming the presence of a higher judgement over life, which stands outside human conventions.

Her boozy breath was day-old, but of quality of Origin. Malt whisky, Carl guessed. The air was so thick with it, an expert would probably be able to determine the vintage.

He really is a cunt ay the first order. Nae about that. The big problem is, he's a mate na aw. Whit kin ye dae?

Het wonder is geschied, mijn pruim is nat en 't regent niet.

He snuffles. Oh, no. He's not going to cry, is he? Because even though it's sweet when guys cry, I am so not prepared for this. Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.

Her voice was small and distant, like she’d already left the room.

He took a breath, then proclaimed, 'Lady Shaselle of Hytanica, I am in love with you.' I burst into laughter, pulling my legs up to ease my aching stomach muscles. He rolled onto his side to look at me, propping his head up with his hand. 'I'm serious,' he insisted, grinning foolishly at me. 'You're drunk.' 'True, but even drunks can be in love.

He was so drunk that he would have stubbornly denied that he was.

How did you hurt your side?" she asked. I let the air out of my lungs, relieved. "While I was distracted by the table, the chair snuck up on me." Erin looked at me with her head tilted to the side and gave me a dubious expression like she was watching the I.Q. points falling out of my ears. I laughed, which hurt, and said, "I'm just stupid clumsy. It was embarrassing. Like I was trying to dance with the furniture but the furniture was drunk.