Best 60 quotes in «booze quotes» category

What's the bill, Arbuckle ?? Well, it comes to $17.94. I gave him a twenty. He started digging for change. You know better than that. Buy yourself a new home.

When it happens and it hits hard, we decide certain things, and realize there's truth in all those dark, lonely days" He had an instantaneous look about him, a glimmer and a glint over those eyes, he knew how the world worked, and took pleasure in its wickedness. He would give a dime or two to those sitting on the street, he would tell them things like: "It won't get any better," and "Might as well use this to buy your next fix," and finally "It's better to die high than to live sober," His suit was pressed nicely, with care and respect, like the kind a corpse wears, he'd say that was his way of honoring the dead, of always being ready for the oncoming train, I liked him, he never wore a fake smile and he was always ready to tell a story about how and when "We all wake up alone," he said once, "Oftentimes even when sleeping next to someone, we wake up before them and they are still asleep and suddenly we are awake, and alone." I didn't see him for a few days, a few days later it felt like it'd been weeks, those weeks drifted apart from one another, like leaves on a pond's surface, and became like months. And then I saw him and I asked him where he'd been, he said, "I woke up alone one day, just like any other, and I decided I didn't like it anymore.

When you haven’t had a drink for a week or so, you get the urge, feel the excitement in your gut, and your mind goes a little scrambled, you feel happy when you go to buy the booze, you get home, you lock your door behind you and say, yes, this night is mine, mine alone, my adventure, my escape, my unchartered journey, and no one can take it away from me.

Booze and tobacco and lots of sex. It keeps a lad young.

… With great alcohol comes great irresponsibility.

You don't have to go back to the way things were. Just go back to the point where you left off. Don't start over... just keep going, but there's a right way of keeping going. And no one here is going to be angry at you for leaving. We all have to leave sometimes. And some of us never come back. But there's always a choice, even if you've already decided never to return. You can still come back from this. That is the only kind of faith that matters. Not in the world, not in...God..., not in our friendship... just in yourself.

You know one day, you're going to look back on these days. And everyone you went to high school with will either be getting married to each other, shitting out kids, or dropping dead like flies," when she spoke, Miss Jenson sighed at the end of every few words; she must have been narrating her own thoughts she might have otherwise kept to herself, "and everything you never did, you'll never be able to even try.

Boredom and booze--cause and effect.

Booze is flowing all unknowing; grandma downs a few, smiles and giggles happily enjoying her new brew.

I'll get back to the whores and the horses and the booze, while there's time.

I eat ice cream. It's better than booze.

I didn't really like the taste of booze. I liked the effect it did on me. But I can't say I savored a glass full of Chablis Chablis 1932. I drank whatever s - - was in front of me and got me buzzed.

I drink booze, I smoke, and I'm hooked on caffeine. I actually have been known to swear at times and belch and even raise my voice when provoked. And I'm not physically repressed!

I find the only thing that really stands up, better than gambling, better than booze, better than women, is reading.

I stay off the booze for a whole 12 weeks before a fight, it can be tough!

I spent most of my dough on booze, broads and boats and the rest I wasted.

It's one giant Bowflex commercial covered in booze vomit.

It's absolutely amazing that I survived all the booze and smoking and the cars and the career.

The air smelled like a mélange of everyone's perfume and hair products, with a slight undertone of booze.

Managers are to information as alcoholics are to booze. They consume enormous amounts, constantly crave more, but have great difficulty in digesting their existing intake.

About a week earlier I had finished a book (on the Hell's Angels, scheduled this fall by Random House) and I felt that I needed about a week of total degeneration to cool out my system. To this end I went down to Big Sur and Monterery and filled my body with every variety of booze and drug available to modern man. For six or seven days I ran happily amok - spending money, sitting in baths, and futilely hunting wild boar with a .44 Magnum revolver. At one point I gave my car away to a man who paid $25 for the privilege of pushing it off a 400-foot cliff. - to Max Scherr editor, Berkley Barb 7/20/1966

When you're trapped in a small town, the only excitement is the booze.

Any respectable alcoholic, worth his salt, should wish to wake up dead.

A fine young man and a fine young felly he always was, except that in the old days, before you began coming in here, Mr. Witherwax, he maybe had too much money and spent too much of it on girls. Take them alone, either one; the money without the women, or a good girl without the money that can be a help to a young felly, and he's fixed for life. But put them together; and often as not, the young felly goes on the booze. ("The Better Mousetrap")

An empty bottle of Jack is almost just as beautiful as a new and unopened bottle...in the same sense as looking down at muddied feet, and looking back the way you came. The journey you've taken to get to this point, the experiences and sights and music listened to, the shit scrolled down on paper. An empty bottle may hold more promise than a full one in that regard...

All I cared about that summer were suntans, beaches, boys and booze.

Arthur said, “Let’s be cool and not get busted. I advise rest and relaxation, and definitely a bath. You guys smell like booze and cheap whores.” Dred sniffed. “He’s right. We do. Woof.

Day zero, the disaster, the serious shock, the near self-destruction. Day two, the suffering, the repentance, the depression, and the promises. Day three, the recovery, the wall, some light, and the joy. Day four, the strength, the resolution, the celebration, and the plan. Day five, exercise to purify and strengthen, the first twinge, small and beaten. Day six, many twinges, major twinges, the doubt, the questions, the boredom, the resentment, and the wall begins to crumble. Day seven, off to buy booze.

Breeze looked at me very steadily. Then he sighed. Then he picked the glass up and tasted it and sighed again shook his head sideways with a half smile; the way a man does when you give him a drink and he needs it very badly and it is just right and the first swallow is like a peek into a cleaner, sunnier, brighter world.

Being crazy, for the rest of us, is a form of sanity.

Biers was where the undead drank. And when Igor the barman was asked for a Bloody Mary, he didn't mix a metaphor.

Happiness is, waking up without a hangover.

I'm just an alcoholic who became a writer so that I would be able to stay in bed until noon.

Hemingway is overrated, Twain is even more lost at sea, And all truths point to the mouth of a woman, Where both her whispers and her screams, Are born. Pour another glass, Beer, wine, whiskey, I don't care, So long as its wisdom is sharp, And it tells lies instead of promises.

I can party like a twenty-four-year-old but it takes me almost a week to recover.

If you drink anymore, you're going to be positively flammable.

I mostly drink clear booze because the rest of it looks it's already been through a gentleman.

Oh and next time you feel like getting hammered, message me. That was some damn good stuff you puked all over yourself, I think it'd only fair I should get some, too. That hasn't already been through you, I mean.

I never had a childhood. Not like the rest of them anyway. I had a starting point from which I have never stopped running.

OK booze, let’s make a deal, God will be my witness, I’ll keep you at 4 % and below, and you make me famous.

I've always felt that distant train whistles heard in the dead of night are the universe's way of letting us know the best days are neither ahead nor behind us...they're happening right now, cradled in the palms of our hands. But that doesn't change the fact that the whiskey, weed, and romance eventually runs out and the night will soon turn to day.

~Posters with torn edges hanging from rotten walls~ The doctor told me something once she said STOP DRINKING I slapped her across the face with this NO I walked right out of that office went right down to the hole I told the bartender WHISKEY, MOTHERFUCKER he poured and he poured and I slapped my money down on that bar the man I had been driving around with he just sort of sat there next to this hooker she probably had something rotten way down there between her legs her eyes told of no soul I emptied the bottle down my throat and ordered some chips the bartender told me THEY'RE STALE and I give him a I DON'T FUCKIN' CARE, GIVE ME SOMETHIN' He slid me a ham sandwich dripping with cheap low-fat mayo and said ENJOY I went back to my room and talked all night so much conversation it turned the toilet bowl pale

People will drive by their high school ten years down the road, just so they can pretend that thinking "not much has changed" is actually true. When really, everything has changed. The air smells the same, but the roads have cracked more. The roads have cracked so much they now look like the skin on a crocodile's back. And all the fields, green in the summers, golden in the autumns, have all been paved over with new reasons to never come back.

...people who don't live at least a little bit in fear, have nothing left to live for.

Reaction time Touch the underside of a penny you find on the street Doesn't feel any different unless you close your eyes I can taste the copper in my mouth now seeping from between my teeth There's an explanation I'm sure all this blood it's from all the times I held the glass too close And forgot to tip the dancer A storm just passed and like every other one that came before it I was left unharmed The dogs are all barking and the cats hiding in the basement And the sky is colored that bright yellow glow makes it feel like you're wearing sunglasses that you can't take off Wherever you are now it's not here because I missed it I missed the show I missed the curtain call And forever more I am cursed like a blanket without a body to keep warm

She was drunk, as everyone was, most of the time.

She came towards me with a juicy gash between her legs that smelled like my best friend's sister" Just when I thought I'd escaped them all She comes reeling herself in pulling at my strings her hand quick to find my zipper She moaned the way a drunk old lady does And I wasn't even inside her yet "You don't have anywhere else to be," she managed to say... "My wounds have been reopened tonight already," I muttered I caught wind of the gully ...the part of her she once kept sacred as a Christian I smelled the information I lifted my hand into the air and hailed a cab He rolled down his window and saw her "Find another cab," he said, and sped off into the night I took her home because she said she was lonely really she was drunk off something some memory or some choice she walked funny... -one of her heels had broken On the couch I left her, Before I could go, she grabbed my cock I slapped her across the face and she pulled harder Her eyes stayed closed Her lips dripped Her grip clenched I wasn't getting out of this one unscathed "If I take my pants off, will you let me go?" I asked "If you take your pants off, I'll be suckin' that cock till you pass out from all the screamin'..." I slapped her again, because she needed it She laughed Saying her cousin beat her harder Saying her father knew how to really... ...make things happen I asked her what her father's number was Let's get his motherfucking self up here to take you away, that's what I said She said he died, or killed himself "What's the difference really," she said, chewing on her hair She let go of my cock on her own accord And she opened her eyes for a moment She closed them again And I could tell she was sleeping Her eyes opened once more Her face red where I'd hit her She tasted the blood on her lip "Do you think if we remind ourselves enough, we can make up for all the pain we've caused others?" I said to her, "We can't. All we can do is keep ourselves from all those who don't deserve it.

The day I became a writer it wasn't the day a whore paid me in sex in exchange for one of my books which happened often and more and more as time went on it wasn't the first time someone actually paid for one of my books which happens less and less as time goes on It was the day I realized that everything is created by man God, Satan, Judas, phobias, excrement, even death even women everything is created by man So I said to myself shit, let me make something let me tape together some words and sentences and prose and predicates and the residual shit that sticks to my ass after I wipe and compose a new kind of thing But then I realized that others had discovered this for themselves as well And suddenly the world became a jungle Where everyone eats each other alive And shits out the same shit

So you mean to tell me you won't fuck anyone you don't share some kind of deep emotional connection with? What a sad, depressing, truly horrible life you must lead...

There has ling been a happy symbiotic relationship between kitchen and bar. Simply put, the kitchen wants booze, and the bartender wants food.