Best 143 quotes in «hangover quotes» category

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

foggy hangover....fending off sloth and torpor....the battle within!!!!!

Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he'd somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.

Every morning, my hangover feels like being born again. My head throbs, like being squeezed and pushed out, fists trembling, throat grunting and wailing in protest of the light, screaming for the comfort of warm, dark silence.

Her head felt like elephants were doing the merengue on her cerebellum.

Gossip and drama are different stages of the same intoxication… the first is the buzz; the latter is the hangover.

Having rebound sex to cure a heartbreak is like drinking alcohol to cure a hangover.

How do I feel today? I feel as unfit as an unfiddle, And it is the result of a certain turbulence in the mind and an uncertain burbulence in the middle. What was it, anyway, that angry thing that flew at me? I am unused to banshees crying Boo at me. Your wife can’t be a banshee— Or can she?

How are you feeling Sweet Peach?” he enquires as he walks across to the chest of drawers, selects a pair of socks and pulls them on. Sweet Peach? What the hell? He’s definitely gay … I shrug. “Er … okay, I guess. I really don’t remember much though. How did I get here … and why am I wearing your t-shirt?” I ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer. Hagen laughs nervously. “I brought you home when you couldn’t tell me where you lived. And don’t worry, you got changed all by yourself … in the kitchen … for like an hour.

I’d wake in the morning, my head fuzzy, sometimes with someone I knew but who was a stranger just leaving, and realize I was one day closer to the end of it all.

Love, doesn't need any stamp of society to prove itself, it just happens

Mardi Gras in Cuba was one of the most uninhibited festivals I have ever witnessed. Although I do not condone the criminal elements that existed behind the festive atmosphere, I dove into the sweeping pleasures without guilt. At my age, life was to be lived, and live it I did! Most of the people surrounding me, on the packed streets of Havana, came from the United States. It also seemed that half of the Miami Police Force was there for these unrestrained festivities. Perhaps the excesses I witnessed are to be criticized, but it was all fun and well beyond my imagination. Everything was new and extremely exciting at the time. The many beautiful girls, who were said to have been exploited, certainly were as caught up in the euphoria as we were and enjoyed the moment every bit as much as we did. The decorated cars and beautiful floats with girls and guys waving, were followed by people dancing to the loud Latin beat. The jubilant parade wound its way along the coastal route to the Avenida Maceo, having started from the wide boulevard Calle G or Avenida de los Presidentes. Crowds of tourists and other revelers laughed and cheered. Smaller, but every bit as intense, were celebrations on other main streets such as Calle Neptuno. Everyone had a great time, and thanks to our officers, even our available time ashore was extended by an hour. I don’t think that it was abused by anyone, but the next day we were all tired and nursing hangovers.

The last thing he wanted after a hellish night like this one was some blasted day coming along and barging about the place.

I awake to hear a shower running and quickly stifle a groan. Oh God, my head hurts! How much did I have to drink last night? I slowly prise open one eye and quickly close it again, the light hurts my delicate hung-over state too much. I sigh heavily and try to recall what exactly happened last night.

If I only drink beer, nothing stronger, then by the end of the night I can generally recognize myself as a reasonable human being, and more importantly, wake up that way.

It was raining again the next morning, a slanting gray rain like a swung curtain of crystal beads. I got up feeling sluggish and tired and stood looking out of the windows, with a dark, harsh taste of Sternwoods still in my mouth. I was as empty of life as a scarecrow's pockets. I went out to the kitchenette and drank two cups of black coffee. You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from women.

I very carefully levered up an eyelid and shut it again fast. A merciless sunbeam had squirted straight in, making my brain bleed.

Love gives the best of highs But also the worst of hangovers.

Sam groaned. A warmth on her face alerted her to the new morning. She opened one eye and peered at the fuzzy daylight streaming in through the window. Her head throbbed like a bitch. Her mouth felt like a carpet. She pushed herself off the couch and stood up shakily, kicking bottles as she stumbled to her small kitchen. Every movement was painful and slow. She was a sloth tight-roping through time. She held onto the basin for a moment to steady herself. She grabbed a plastic cup and opened the tap, letting it flow as she filled and refilled it, gulping down as much water as she could. She splashed her face, neck and chest with water, then refilled the cup and dumped the contents over her head. She stood there, unaware of the moments passing by, as the water dripped down her body. Willing herself to wake up and feel better. Willing the nausea into oblivion.

She decided to make salmon baked in a touch of olive oil, topped with pine nuts, and served over spinach flash-fried in the salmon-and-olive-oil drippings. She added brown rice that she had slow-boiled with the herb hawthorn. Just as she finished, Cordelia arrived with a woman she had found standing in the sidewalk out front. "My husband has high blood pressure," she explained, negotiating the stairs down into Portia's apartment with care. "He's never happy with anything I make for supper, so I should tell you that you probably don't have anything that will work for me." Cordelia took a look at the meal, raised an eyebrow at Portia, and then turned to the woman. "This is the perfect meal for your husband's high blood pressure. Fish oil, nuts, hawthorn, whole grains." Next, a pumpkin pie went to a woman who couldn't sleep. "Pie?" she asked in a doubtful tone. "Pumpkin," Portia clarified, "is good for insomnia." An apricot crumble spiced with cloves and topped with oats and brown sugar went to a woman drawn with stress. Then a man walked through the door, shoulders slumped. Cordelia and Olivia eyed him for a second. "I know the feeling," Olivia said, and fetched him a half gallon of the celery and cabbage soup Portia had found herself preparing earlier. The man peered into the container, grew a tad queasier, and said, "No thanks." "Do you or don't you have a hangover?" Olivia demanded, then drew a breath. "Really," she added more kindly. "Eat this and you'll feel better." He came back the next day for more. "Cabbage is no cure for drinking too much," Cordelia told him. He just shrugged and slapped down his money for two quarts of soup instead of one.

Tally really didn't have the strength to explain that she'd really meant her hangover, which was sprawled in her head like an overweight cat, sullen and squishy and disinclined to budge.

Thanks liver... you are a champ!

That drinking thing, the night before an early morning start, I actually think it helps the productivity in some ways (as long as it's not spirits) it gives you that I don't give a fuck attitude, more relaxed, I'm getting away with it after all, I had a life last night, and now I may be hungover, but I had that secret world that you didn't have, and that you tried to take away from me, want to take away from me. But I still got that beer buzz. And I'll do it again, tomorrow night too. I'll never surrender. And when I'm working, I'll be thinking about it. Those moments of mine, truly mine, that you can never have or take away from me.

The gears of narcissism propel the dictator and how tempting it is to shift them into overdrive while drunk on power. The genocidal hangover comes later.

The tranquilizers he had been given had worn off, leaving him with a drug hangover and a bitter grudge against the entire world.

The world was a bad joke dreamed up by the Almighty on an off-day. I've always felt myself that he probably had a hangover that morning.

This can’t be the hangover that all the films talk about. It just can’t. It’s too terrible. If this is the result of drinking, then why would anyone bother?

The lovely effects of champagne were quite gone and only the nasty ones were left; the taste in the mouth, the splitting ache in the brow and the impotence of not being able to clarify one's thoughts.

Well, I drank enough to sustain a small Spanish village, I haven't had an orgasm in a thousand years, and I will probably die old and alone in a beautifully designed apartment with all of Clive's illegitimate children swarming around me...How do you think I feel?

When Quoyle leaned forward the twin spears of the headache threatened to dislodge his eyes.

What the fuck is going on Lor? What the hell did you do last night? What did you say to Kacey? Who the hell is Blue Eyes and why is my car spray-painted with the word ‘asshole’?” Spray-paint? Oh dear God, what have I done?

All I wanted and all Neal wanted and all anybody wanted was some kind of penetration into the heart of things where, like in a womb, we could curl up and sleep the ecstatic sleep that Burroughs was experiencing with a good big mainline shot of M. and advertising executives in NY were experiencing with twelve Scotch & Sodas in Stouffers before they made the drunkard's train to Westchester---but without hangovers.

Almost everything is in the movie [The Hangover]. I think the fun little Easter eggs on the DVD will be sort of the gag reel stuff. There's a lot of takes we just couldn't get through.We were laughing.

A real hangover is nothing to try out family remedies on. The only cure for a real hangover is death.

At the millennium we partied like it was 1999. And then we had a 10 year bathtub tequila hangover, man. Just hugging the metaphorical toilet on a daily basis.

A favorite film of mine is 'Office Space' and I love 'The Hangover.' That is a really good comedy from character in that film, and that is true of 'Office Space' too.

Before forty, you think that exhaustion is something like a long-lasting hangover. But at forty you learn all about it. Even your passions exhaust you.

Credit buying is much like being drunk. The buzz happens immediately and gives you a lift... The hangover comes the day after.

Don't drink on an empty stomach: the main point of the refreshment is the enhancement of food. Don't drink if you have the blues: it's a junk cure. Drink when you are in a good mood. Cheap booze is a false economy. It's not true that you shouldn't drink alone: these can be the happiest glasses you ever drain. Hangovers are another bad sign, and you should not expect to be believed if you take refuge in saying you can't properly remember last night. (If you really don't remember, that's an even worse sign.)

By far the best cure for hangovers is not drinking excessively the night before.This cure has a 100% success rate, and as you save the cost of the drinks you would have otherwise drunk, it is cheaper than free.

Coke didn't last long enough; it gave me a hangover for two weeks for being high for ten minutes.

Dieting on New Year's Day isn't a good idea as you can't eat rationally but really need to be free to consume whatever is necessary, moment by moment, in order to ease your hangover. I think it would be much more sensible if resolutions began generally on January the second.

For a bad hangover take the juice of two quarts of whisky.

Every time I'd go out drinking I was looking for something new. But it was the same every time. I'd wake up in some bed with some person, I had a hangover and a show to do. And the truth is, it was the same every time. But now life is... pretty interesting without the alcohol.

Having a baby is like suddenly getting the world's worst roommate, like having Janis Joplin with a bad hangover and PMS come to stay with you.

Having a hangover with small children is never a good idea. I did it once and it was the biggest mistake I've ever made, I've never felt so ill in my life. You have to get out of bed and look after your kid who doesn't care if you've got a sore head.

He left Himmel Street wearing his hangover and a suit.

Home is where you hang your hangover.

How bout you and all your morals in that outfit that you borrowed/Make the most out of tonight and worry bout it all tomorrow.

Hangover cure: Rigorous sex, hydration, hot bath, then "go up for half an hour in an open aeroplane. (needless to say, with a non-hungover person at the controls).