Best 797 quotes in «drunk quotes» category

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

...drunks and leggings always tell the truth.

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.

Drive. He’s already dead.

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

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

Dude, don’t die out here.

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.

[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.

‘Eighth one this week,’ he said.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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

His eyes were like two wafers of slate, grey and lifeless.

High cunts are a big fuckin drag when yir feeling like this, because thir too busy enjoying their high tae notice or gie a fuck about your suffering. Whereas the piss-held in the pub wants every cunt tae git as ootay it as he is, the real junky (as opposed tae the casual user who wants a partner-in-crime) doesnae gie a fuck aboot anybody else.

Hit the bottom and get back up; or hit the bottle and stay down.

How many beers do y'all think it takes before one internationally scientist turns to another and says, 'Dude, bet you twenty bucks I can levitate a frog with a magnet?' ' Sam drawled.

How to look after your very drunk friend Step 1: Find her in the bathroom, slumped against the towel rack Step 2: Ask her if she needs to be sick. Try not to get offended when she yells that she's NOT DRUNK Step 3: Tell her it's fine when she apologises, bursts into tears and then falls asleep on your shoulder. [...] Step 6: Root around in her front pocket for her keys. Make a joke about inappropriate touching. Laugh when she earnestly tells you that you could touch her anywhere, because nothing's inappropriate when you're best friends. Step 7: Write it down so you can mock her with it tomorrow, and for the rest of time. Step 8: Tell her mother that yes, you both had a great time. Pour two glasses of water, carry them both up the stairs (Make her go first, so you can catch her if she trips)

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.

How very like you, Puck.” Ash’s voice came from a great distance, and the room started to spin. “Offer them a taste of faery wine, and act surprised when they’re consumed by it.” That struck me as hilarious, and I broke into hysterical giggles. And once I began, I couldn’t stop. I laughed until I was gasping for breath, tears streaming down my face. My feet itched and my skin crawled. I needed to move, to do something. I tried standing up, wanting to spin and dance, but the room tilted violently and I fell, still shrieking with laughter. Somebody caught me, scooping me off my feet and into their arms. I smelled frost and winter, and heard an exasperated sigh from somewhere above my head. “What are you doing, Ash?” I heard someone ask. A familiar voice, though I couldn’t think of his name, or why he sounded so suspicious. “I’m taking her back to her room.” The person above me sounded wonderfully calm and deep. I sighed and settled into his arms. “She’ll have to sleep off the effects of the fruit. We’ll likely be here another day because of your idiocy.” The other voice said something garbled and unintelligible. I was suddenly too sleepy and light-headed to care. Relaxing against the mysterious person’s chest, I fell into a heady sleep.

I am sitting here, staring at the dark sky and drunk with memories. laughing like a maniac while crying an ocean. Somewhere it feels like somebody is kissing my lips passionately. While they are continuously pushing a knife, deep into my chest.

I am clumsy, drop glasses and get drunk on Monday afternoons. I read Seneca and can recite Shakespeare by heart, but I mess up the laundry, don’t answer my phone and blame the world when something goes wrong. I think I have a dream, but most of the days I’m still sleeping. The grass is cut. It smells like strawberries. Today I finished four books and cleaned my drawers. Do you believe in a God? Can I tell you about Icarus? How he flew too close to the sun? I want to make coming home your favourite part of the day. I want to leave tiny little words lingering in your mind, on nights when you’re far away and can’t sleep. I want to make everything around us beautiful; make small things mean a little more. Make you feel a little more. A little better, a little lighter. The coffee is warm, this cup is yours. I want to be someone you can’t live without. I want to be someone you can’t live without.