Best 1158 quotes in «alcohol quotes» category

What is this place?’ ‘Heaven.’ She laughed, ‘with better drinks!

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.

What struck me, in reading the reports from Sri Lanka, was the mild disgrace of belonging to our imperfectly evolved species in the first place. People who had just seen their neighbors swept away would tell the reporters that they knew a judgment had been coming, because the Christians had used alcohol and meat at Christmas or because ... well, yet again you can fill in the blanks for yourself. It was interesting, though, to notice that the Buddhists were often the worst. Contentedly patting an image of the chubby lord on her fencepost, a woman told the New York Times that those who were not similarly protected had been erased, while her house was still standing. There were enough such comments, almost identically phrased, to make it seem certain that the Buddhist authorities had been promulgating this consoling and insane and nasty view. That would not surprise me.

What’s your poison or should I just waste my money by guessing something you probably won’t even drink? I’d much rather get you something you like.

When a man is on the road to power he buys everyone a drink. Once elected he tries to close the saloons.

When life gives you juniper berries, make gin!

When my grandmother comes to dinner at our house she always carries her own jar of Turner’s Special Blend. She knows how much she needs and doesn’t want to be caught short. My brother remembers her at Christmas one year, an especially weepy time for her, when she put her hands around his neck and murmured, My little angel, you wouldn’t be so hard to kill. And though he knew it was only the whiskey talking, he also knew that the whiskey talked daily.

When my pals in high school were starting to drink, it always looked unappealing to me. I would be at a big party and see one of the popular girls or football players completely wasted and puking and acting a fool, and think to myself, There’s nothing cool about that. I never wanted to be that out of control.

When the headlines get black and foreboding, the sale of alcohol and barbiturates rises in the country, as millions try to escape from the grim realities of [such] dangers.

Wie lieb und luftig perlt die Blase Der Witwe Klicko in dem Glase.

When weed whispers, "eat something", into your alcoholic brain, know that you were just saved by a plant.

When you are young your body cannot handle alcohol, and when you get old your mind cannot handle it. Either way, alcohol has its way.

When you drink alcohol you are just borrowing happiness from tomorrow.

While I can’t walk on water, I can certainly wobble on whisky.

Why were drunks, almost always, persons of talent, personality, lovable qualities, gifts, brains, assets of all kinds (else why would anyone care?); why were so many brilliant men alcoholic?

Wine gives one 'ideas,' whereas champagne gives one 'strategies.

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.

While binge drinking is a significant issue, it is likely that many members of the public would be surprised by its categorisation as a mental illness, particularly at the milder end." Public confusion caused by differing understandings of the term 'mental illness'. Jorm AF, Reavley NJ. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2012 May;46(5):397-9. PMID: 22535288

Whoever said that a drunk mind speaks sober thoughts...was clearly still drunk off their ass. -Jackson 'Blame It on the Pain

Why are girls determined to have emotionally heated conversations when they're drunk? In my observation, too much alcohol makes guys one-dimensional hornballs and girls unpredictable basket cases, and under these dangerous circumstances they attempt to walk into the nearest house party and look for love. And people wonder why their relationships are so messed up.

Why do I take a blade and slash my arms? Why do I drink myself into a stupor? Why do I swallow bottles of pills and end up in A&E having my stomach pumped? Am I seeking attention? Showing off? The pain of the cuts releases the mental pain of the memories, but the pain of healing lasts weeks. After every self-harming or overdosing incident I run the risk of being sectioned and returned to a psychiatric institution, a harrowing prospect I would not recommend to anyone. So, why do I do it? I don't. If I had power over the alters, I'd stop them. I don't have that power. When they are out, they're out. I experience blank spells and lose time, consciousness, dignity. If I, Alice Jamieson, wanted attention, I would have completed my PhD and started to climb the academic career ladder. Flaunting the label 'doctor' is more attention-grabbing that lying drained of hope in hospital with steri-strips up your arms and the vile taste of liquid charcoal absorbing the chemicals in your stomach. In most things we do, we anticipate some reward or payment. We study for status and to get better jobs; we work for money; our children are little mirrors of our social standing; the charity donation and trip to Oxfam make us feel good. Every kindness carries the potential gift of a responding kindness: you reap what you sow. There is no advantage in my harming myself; no reason for me to invent delusional memories of incest and ritual abuse. There is nothing to be gained in an A&E department.

Wine?" said Zoe. "At two in the afternoon?" "I've decided to become an alcoholic. Just for the duration of my middle years." She filled a glass and rested it on the edge of the washbasin. "That's yours.

… With great alcohol comes great irresponsibility.

With the smell of beer I try to get the smell of death off me. And only the smell of death will get the smell of beer off you, like all the drinkers whose graves I have to dig.

Words can be more lethal than blades, Magnus. And Loki is a master of words. To beat him, you must find your inner poet. Only one thing can give you a chance to beat Loki at his own game.” “Mead,” I guessed. “Kvasir’s Mead.” The answer didn’t sit right with me. I’d been on the streets long enough to see how well “mead” improved people’s skills. Pick your poison: beer, wine, vodka, whiskey. Folks claimed they needed it to get through the day. They called it liquid courage. It made them funnier, smarter, more creative. Except it didn’t. It just made them less able to tell how unfunny and stupid they were acting.

Wszystko zgodnie z sugestiami mojej mamy. W następnym tygodniu zaczynam zapisywać rozmaite szczegóły. [...] Najlepsi ludzie piją whiskey, mówi.

Worrying about parents is a waste of time. It’s your life. Let’s have a martini.

Write when drunk. Edit when sober. Market it with the persistence of a drug peddler.

You can be every bit as amazing, and more so, without any intoxicants in your system. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if no one in the world felt that they needed alcohol to feel relaxed, or happy, or confident, or beautiful?

Yesterday it was sun outside. The sky was blue and people were lying under blooming cherry trees in the park. It was Friday, so records were released, that people have been working on for years. Friends around me find success and level up, do fancy photo shoots and get featured on big, white, movie screens. There were parties and lovers, hand in hand, laughing perfectly loud, but I walked numbly through the park, round and round, 40 times for 4 hours just wanting to make it through the day. There's a weight that inhabits my chest some times. Like a lock in my throat, making it hard to breathe. A little less air got through and the sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories, but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk tick tick tick me not making a sound and some days I just don't know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind, but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine. This is not beautiful. This is not useful. You can not do anything with it and it tries to control you, throw you off your balance and lovely ways but you can not let it. I cleaned up. Took myself for a walk. Tried to keep my eyes on the sky. Stayed away from the alcohol, stayed away from the destructive tools we learn to use. the smoking and the starving, the running, the madness, thinking it will help but it only feeds the fire and I don't want to hurt myself anymore. I made it through and today I woke up, lighter and proud because I'm still here. There are flowers growing outside my window. The coffee is warm, the air is pure. In a few hours I'll be on a train on my way to sing for people who invited me to come, to sing, for them. My own songs, that I created. Me—little me. From nowhere at all. And I have people around that I like and can laugh with, and it's spring again. It will always be spring again. And there will always be a new day.

You always miss 100% of the shots you don't order

You are giving up nothing! You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

You are dehydrated," I said. "The result of alcohol taken in excess. But that is the only way to take it. It is the only way to do a man any good.

You can drink yourself to sleep but not think yourself to sleep.

You know that movie, where the little boy says 'I see dead people'? The Sixth Sense. Well, I see them all the time, and I'm getting tired of it. That's what's ruined my mood. Here it is, almost Christmas, and I didn't even think about putting up a tree, because I'm still seeing the autopsy lab in my head. I'm still smelling it on my hands. I come home on a day like this, after two postmortems, and I can't think about cooking dinner. I can't even look at a piece of meat without thinking of muscle fibers. All I can deal with is a cocktail. And then I pour the drink and smell the alcohol, and suddenly there I am, back in the lab. Alcohol, formalin, they both have that same sharp smell.

You enter the cave of the bear to become its master or its meat.

you never know u r drunk until u wake up with a dickhead in the morning.

You need to relax. Maybe we should stop at a bar for alcohol first." "For me or for them?" "For them, of course. It's important to get them loaded early in the day. Makes them easier to control.

You're a bad man who made her pound a shot of Jäger.

Your greatest regrets in life will not come from your past failures; they would come from remembering the amount of time you spent in pursuing vain things.

You're walking down Fool's Street, Laura used to say when he was drinking, and she had been right. He had known even then that she was right, but knowing had made no difference; he had simply laughed at her fears and gone on walking down it, till finally he had stumbled and fell. Then, for a long time, he stayed away, and if he had stayed away long enough he would have been all right; but one night he began walking down it again - and met the girl. It was inevitable that on Fool's Street there should be women as well as wine. He had walked down it many times in many different towns, and now he was walking down it once again in yet another town. Fool's Street never changed, no matter where you went, and this one was no different from the others. The same skeletonic signs bled beer names in vacant windows; the same winos sat in doorways nursing muscatel; the same drunk tank awaited you when at last your reeling footsteps failed. And if the sky was darker than usual, it was only because of the rain which had begun falling early that morning and been falling steadily ever since.

Acid, booze, and ass, needles, guns, and grass, lots of laughs.

About the nicest thing God ever invented was alcohol. He's proud of it, too. The Bible's full of kind remarks about booze.

According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse, the first use of alcohol typically begins at age 12.

You tasted like fire And I miss that. So, at times I drank a little. And at times, I drank too much. But I only drank Till it burned me enough.

You were like fine wine, but cheap wine gets you drunk faster.

A bartender is just a pharmacist with a limited inventory.

A few drinks later you're not so choosy when the closing lights strip off the shadows on this strange new flesh you've found.

Addiction to food is unfortunately really grave, also to alcohol or to anything else.

Ah, sweet alcohol. Like a true friend, you replace the anger with better, louder anger.