Best 1841 quotes in «drinking quotes» category

...it was not considered right for a man not to drink, although drink was a dangerous thing. On the contrary, not to drink would have been thought a mark of cowardice and of incapacity for self-control. A man was expected even to get drunk if necessary, and to keep his tongue and his temper no matter how much he drank. The strong character would only become more cautious and more silent under the influence of drink; the weak man would immediately show his weakness. I am told the curious fact that in the English army at the present day officers are expected to act very much after the teaching of the old Norse poet; a man is expected to be able on occasion to drink a considerable amount of wine or spirits without showing the effects of it, either in his conduct or in his speech. "Drink thy share of mead; speak fair or not at all" - that was the old text, and a very sensible one in its way.

It wasn't supposed to. It was just supposed to stop you from hurting yourself.” “It helps—” “No it doesn't. It just pushes it away temporarily. Just like the booze.” “But I need—” “You need to let yourself feel. Feel it, own it. Then move on.” “You make it sound so easy.” Bitterness drips from each syllable. “It’s not. It’s the fucking hardest thing a person can do.” I smooth a damp strand out of her face and away from my mouth. “It’s the hardest fucking thing. It’s why we drink and do drugs and fight. It’s why I play music and build engines.

It was one of those striking moments in life where you find familiarity in the inexplicable.

I understood drinking to be the gasoline of all adventure.

Ivanov: Gentlemen, you've again set up a drinking shop in my study... I have asked each and every one of you a thousand times not to do that... Look now, you've spilt vodka on a paper... and there are crumbs... and gherkins... It's disgusting!

... I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown. - Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. - Wine of the country, says he. - What's yours? says Joe. - Ditto MacAnaspey, says I. - Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And how's the old heart, citizen? says he.

I've found that martinis make mourning much easier.

i've had enough of this. if you'll excuse me, i'm going to find a tavern where i can pay an underdressed woman to sit it my lap and look very pleased with me while i drink heavily

I've never understood people who just go out for one drink. Once I have one drink, I want all the drinks.

I want to drink hard liquor, as you call it, before lunch. I've got a mouth like the bottom of the parrot's cage. You wouldn't want me to throw a screaming fit in front of all your officers.

I was a fool, alone, preparing to do what every fool did at such times—I was going to a bar to drink myself smart.

I was born three drinks short of comfortable...'" "But I knew what that guy meant about the way he was born three drinks short. It made me think about the first beer I ever drank, down at North Beach with a bunch of kids one summer night. It made me think about that first exquisite relief. It made me think about my ex-husband, Scott, who always said I should stop after the third drink. "That's when you get out of control," he'd say. I had no idea what we was talking about. After a couple of drinks is when I start to feel IN control.

I went out and had a drink. I needed to talk to someone, and solitary drinkers are lucky in this regard— they always have someone to talk to.

Love is alcohol.

living only for the moment, savouring the moon, the snow, the cherry blossoms, and the maple leaves, singing songs, drinking wine, and diverting oneself in simply floating, unconcerned by the prospect of imminent poverty, buoyant and carefree, like a gourd carried along with the current of the river...

Lucas felt uncommonly depressed and careless. Drunkenness, in a man like August Hay, melts the restraints on cheerfulness. On the contrary with Lucas: he kept up courage consciously. Sap his mind, and the lid was lifted from a cesspool of muddy colors.

Millions of deaths would not have happened if it weren’t for the consumption of alcohol. The same can be said about millions of births.

May you drink so much that you lose your fear, but not so much that you lose your mind. May you eat so much that you gain your strength, but not so much that you lose your shape.

Men hvad bruker hun al den sherryen til? De har visst svært ofte skjelpadesuppe der i huset. Ja men en flaske om dag!

More likely drinking Coca-Cola... than water will be a symmetry...

More wine," Lightsong said, raising his cup. "You can't get drunk, Your Grace," Llarimar noted. "Your body is immune to all toxins." "I know," Lightsong said as a lesser servant filled his cup. "But trust me—I'm quite good at pretending.

Mixing old wine with new wine is stupidity, but mixing old wisdom with new wisdom is maturity.

More wine for me, pour me some more!" "You smart girl, I knew you're a smart girl, just teasing...” Faces turn red, the dark earth blood is rising. They wink at Pelka, wink at the host: "He knows his goods!" The women feel the buttons constricting them - they undo one, another, a third. By twos the guests go outside to get some air. "Well, my dear guests, are you soaked to the gills? Eh? And now-to dance! Get lively!" The table and the chairs vanish. The middle of the room is empty. Ivan the Monk jumps out of his hole, a tambourine in his hands: "Tim-ta-a-am! Tim-ta-a-am!" “Eh-hey!" the redhead suddenly snatches the tambourine and sweeps off, tapping wildly in a circle. Eyes closed: a white sleepless sun-a white night on the meadow-white columns of smoke swaying over fires... "Eh-ah!"-to whirl herself to death, to whirl out everything, to empty herself - nothing has ever been... Heavy boots are thumping on the floor, beards fly in the wind, the frock-coat tails go flying... hey, get going, faster, faster - a hundred versts an hour! ("The North")

Most people who spend their lives are dreaming of having a summer house somewhere in the suburb of their city where they could lie in the hot sun all day long, drinking coffee and juice. They think they are enjoying life, but really they are spending life.

- Mr. Alakbarov, how much is the rent for this fantastic apartment? - Madam, this is the red wine aisle of the grocery store.

Mulled ale for the frozen man, And mulled ale for the weary: For mulled ale is the body's friend And makes the sick heart merry.

My lips have touched more bottles than lovers and I'm half a shot away from psychotic.

Need 'nother whiskey. Whiskey chaser. Gotta get two men drunk." Mr. Cohan placed both hands on the bar. "Mr. Walsh," he said severely, "in Gavagan's we will serve a man a drink to wet his whistle, or even because his old woman has pasted him with a dornick, but a drink to get drunk with I do not sell. Now I'm telling you you've had enough for tonight, and in the morning you'll be thanking me..." ("My Brother's Keeper")

My professional life had started and here I was at a professional dinner full of uninhibited drinking.

Natives of the Florida Keys often refer to themselves as Conchs, and for good reason: They have been drinking.

Nel mio paese, la vodka non porta alcuna gioia. Porta abbruttimento, rimorso, depressione. Distrugge ogni cosa.

My side felt a lot better when Nora called me at noon the next day. "My nice policeman wants to see you," she said. "How do you feel?" "Terrible. I must've gone to bed sober." I pushed Asta out of the way and got up.

New Rule: The Napa Valley is Disneyland for alcoholics. Be honest, you're not visiting wineries in four days because you're an oenophile, you're doing it because you're a drunk. It's the only place in America where you can pass out in a stranger's house and it's okay, because it's a B&B and you paid for it.

Never underestimate the audacity of the small minded and slightly crapulous. A rather bleezed young neighbour decided to have a grammar battle with me. It lasted all of two seconds. I said something slightly amicable, and he responded with, “You sure that's how you use that word?” I put down my laundry basket and turned to him slowly and deliberately. “Do you really want to have this discussion with me, son, or do you want to go home and rethink your life?” He grumbled and vanished.

No one else can know me; that's why I drink.

No, I went to the bar to ask for a mojito and that guy Johnny said he didn’t make mojitos. Then he offered to make me a mint julep, in one of those silver cups and everything.” “Did you know say the true cause of the Civil War was some Northerner adding nutmeg to a mint julep?” Lucy asked.

Non poteva nemmeno affogare la delusione nel vino, come faceva l’allegra brigata dell’ispettore. Sì, perché lui era astemio. Non ci poteva fare proprio niente: il dolce succo di Bacco gli dava acidità, nel migliore dei casi, e nel peggiore gli regalava delle tremende fitte allo stomaco. Era così da sempre. La cosa gli aveva procurato non pochi problemi a livello d’integrazione. Se c’era un individuo da quelle parti di cui si diffidava, era proprio l’astemio. Estremamente raro, e per questo estremamente sospetto. Perché non era come tutti gli altri? Quando tutti gli altri facevano tintinnare i bicchieri, cosa ci faceva lui in disparte in un angolo? Osservava? Giudicava? Minacciava? E ancora: cosa ci faceva con tutta quell’acqua? Dava da bere alle piante? Riempiva gli umidificatori dei termosifoni?

No one else “makes” us do anything. They can’t make us nag them, or make us angry, or make us have to strike out at them, or make us drink alcohol, or make us yell at them, or anything else. We are responsible for our choices, including our responses and reactions.

Now is the time to drink!

Not having any drink about ain’t the same as not understanding the need for one. Times like these change a body’s perspective.

Nothing gives a sensation better than a beer! Nothing builds a relation better than a beer!

Nothing bonds two solitary individuals like a good shared drunk. This is a scientific fact. It’s important, even necessary for the long-term welfare of the planet to get good and shit-faced with your neighbor every now and then.

Oh God how subtle he would have to be, how cunning... No paragraph, no phrase even of the thousands the book must contain could strike a discordant note, be less than fully imagined, an entire novel's worth of thought would have to be expended on each one. His attention had only to lapse for a moment, between preposition and object, colophon and chapter heading, for dead spots to appear like gangrene that would rot the whole. Silkworms didn't work as finely or as patiently as he must, and yet boldness was all, the large stroke, the end contained in and prophesied by the beginning, the stains of his clouds infinitely various but all signifying sunrise. Unity in diversity, all that guff. An enormous weariness flew over him. The trouble with drink, he had long known, wasn't that it started up these large things but that it belittled the awful difficulties of their execution. ("Novelty")

Oh, he was a pretentious fool, making careers out of cocktails and meanwhile regretting, weakly and secretly, the collapse of an insufficient and wretched idealism. He had garnished his soul in the subtlest taste and now he longed for the old rubbish. He was empty, it seemed, empty as an old bottle —

one doesn't even think of the liver and if the liver doesn't think of us, that's fine.

On the other side of the ledger stood the fact that fotitude was useless against it (liquor). Even the mightiest potsman, a paladin who could match tankards with a whole alehouse of swag-bellies Falstaffs and outquaff the parcel of them, would see his length measured upon the floor by less liquid than it would take to fill his hat.

One minute, I'm a tragically average, fair and freckled eighth-grader with algebra homework. The next, I'm one who has swallowed liquor. I'm a rebel. I'm a line-crosser.

One of the things that strikes me most though is how some people don't realise they're self-harming. The phrase 'self-harm' brings up thoughts of 'cutting', but that's only a small portion of it. When you drink excessively to drown your sorrows to the point you throw up and can't see straight and/or, like a girl at my school, ended up being driven to hospital to have her stomach pumped, you've brought harm to yourself. If you take drugs to feel numb and it becomes an addiction that you can't break, you've self-harmed. When you starve yourself or binge eat to fit the latest fashions, you're pushing your body further than it can go. We need to start treating ourselves how we deserve to be treated, even if you feel that no one else does. Prove to the world you ARE worth something by treating yourself with the utmost respect and hope that other people will follow your example. And even if they don't, at least one person in the world is treating you well: YOU.

One of the things that baffles me (and there are quite a few) is how there can be so much lingering stigma with regards to mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder. In my opinion, living with manic depression takes a tremendous amount of balls. Not unlike a tour of Afghanistan (though the bombs and bullets, in this case, come from the inside). At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you're living with this illness and functioning at all, it's something to be proud of, not ashamed of. They should issue medals along with the steady stream of medication.

Ô, wine!, the truth-serum so potent that all those who wish to live happy lives should abstain from drinking it entirely!... except of course when they are alone.