Best 1158 quotes in «alcohol quotes» category

Because the world all twisted up and wrong, like distorted glass, only came back into focus if you looked at it through the bottom of a bottle.

Becoming a writer is a polite way of saying you've chosen alcoholism as a career.

Beer is a lady without any friends

Beer. There’s nothing I don’t like about it. I love the smell, the taste—even the sound of it. The cool thunk of the cap coming off the bottle, the silvery crack of the pop-top can. You need to sip a whiskey. And I was never a sipper. I was a guzzler. I loved the feeling of it: to open wide the mouth of the soul and pour a cold one down my throat, with my mind racing ever-forward toward the next. Beer was kind and faithful, like an old friend. Every drinker has their poison. I am a beer man.

Beer. There’s nothing I don’t like about it. I love the smell, the taste—even the sound of it. The cool thunk of the cap coming off the bottle, the silvery crack of the pop-top can. The cold sweat of the container against the fingers on a sultry afternoon. Every drinker has their poison. I am a beer man. You need to sip a whiskey. And I was never a sipper. I was a guzzler. I loved the feeling of it: to open wide the mouth of the soul and pour a cold one down my throat, with my mind racing ever-forward toward the next. Beer was kind and faithful, like an old friend.

Being me is a job — is labour so time-consuming and expensive that I have to have a second job just to support it. So that I can drink, I have to get drink and that isn’t something people give away and then there’s drink that I need because I have drunk and the other drink I have to keep around because, sooner or later, I will drink it. That’s a full-time occupation: that’s like being a miner, or a nurse.

Beloved, we join hands here to pray for gin. An aridity defiles us. Our innards thirst for the juice of juniper. Something must be done. The drought threatens to destroy us. Surely, God who let manna fall from the heavens so that the holy children of Israel might eat, will not let the equally holy children of Niggeratti Manor die from the want of a little gin. Children, let us pray.

Beware the drunkard’s wisdom.

Beyond a thin veil of space stretched Existence, the frailest and most imbalanced reality of the cosmos. No one was really sure why it was imbalanced, but some believed it had something to do with the general alcohol consumption per capita.

Brandy or beer? Waters a good idea.

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.

But behold! As soon as I went out on the adventure-path I met John Barleycorn again.

Buddy eyed me closely. His eyes were filigreed with red. I watched as he went through one of those instantaneous mood swings that only drunks and menstruating women can manage.

But what of Ham? It didn’t matter if he told anyone about his drunken father or not, if he chided him or tried to dress him, if he lifted his struggling body back into bed, if he took his hand and told him where to place his feet, none of this changed the fact of what he’d seen. It’s possible he opened a door innocently, followed the sound of Noah’s voice cursing God and the sky, possible he didn’t even look, that he turned away before seeing. And it’s likely that Noah hadn’t noticed the door opening, couldn’t have told you who had come in, which son, wouldn’t remember anyway. Apparently it’s God’s call. Ham saw his father drunken and naked, and for this he was cursed, and all of his offspring, and the races that led from these offspring, accursed forever.

Charity shook her head, struggling to get back into the flow of Lady Margaret's crisply worded presentation. Brandy brought sleep, and a temporary escape from the ache of a broken heart. But in the morning came gritty eyes, a furry tongue, and a pounding headache that made a foolish girl wince and rub her temples whenever her coolly perfect boss was looking the other way.

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

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

Come boy, and pour for me a cup Of old Falernian. Fill it up With wine, strong, sparkling, bright, and clear; Our host decrees no water here. Let dullards drink the Nymph's pale brew, The sluggish thin their blood with dew. For such pale stuff we have no use; For us the purple grape's rich juice. Begone, ye chilling water sprite; Here burning Bacchus rules tonight!

Chodź, napijemy się ginu. Oto prawdziwa odpowiedź na wszystkie parszywe problemy.

Come, drunks and drug-takers; come perverts unnerved! Receive the laurel, given, though late, on merit; to whom and wherever deserved. Parochial punks, trimmers, nice people, joiners true-blue, Get the hell out of the way of the laurel. It is deathless And it isn't for you.

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.

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.

Dell had left the army and taken the discipline home with him. I’d left the theatre world and taken the whisky sodas home with me.

Det er nesten litt ironisk. I all den fylla skjedde det virkelig mye omsorgssvikt. Jeg opplevde vold mellom foreldrene mine, løgn, fornektelse. Foreldrenes selvfornektelse blir barnas tvungne løgner. I tillegg var det alle disse seksuelle overgrepene mange unger er rammet av, som vi med tiden enten hørte om eller skjønte hadde skjedd. Alt dette er så til de grader preget av alkohol. Mye av det ville ikke skjedd uten. Så mye faenskap kunne vært unngått, hadde det ikke vært for drekkinga. Alkoholen fungerer jo som en trigger for sånt. Så fæle kunne man være mot hverandre, og det helt åpenlyst! Og likevel kunne man bli akseptert av samfunnet. Likevel bli ansett som verdige borgere. Jeg syntes det var merkelig. Men dette var jo den aksepterte bruken av rus.

Doesn’t the whole world run towards drunkenness anyway? Don’t they drink alcohol to get rid of their minds that look like a decayed tooth that causes persistent pain? -Red White Love: The Love of Liverpool FC

Did Ida never look for him?" Dieter asks. "She didn't believe in spirits." "And what became of Henry?" "Oh. From time to time you can still hear him calling. My father heard his voice himself." "Every Saturday night when he came home drunk," Frieda says.

Does not people's preoccupation these days with drugs, alcohol, medication and self deception prove that the truth not only hurts, but it is torture to bear?

Domestic violence is frequently excused when alcohol and other substances are involved.

Do you guys ever reach the point of drunkenness where you're so drunk you're like "I better keep drinking to sober up" and then you're like "you know, I recognise that that is not how it works. But...

Do not seek solace in alcohol. Alcohol obscures good judgment and leaves you unable to think clearly or understand what God is trying to say to you.

Do you remember—” “Fuck, yes.” Merrick stood. “And if you’re telling this story, I’m getting the bottle.

Drunkenness. This Greek word means overindulgence in alcohol. Alcohol may be used for medicine, but it can also become a terrible drug. The way it is used in our world is probably one of the great evils of our day. It is a self-inflicted impediment that springs from “a man taking a drink, a drink taking a drink, and drink taking the man.” Distilled liquors as we have them today were unknown in Bible times.12

Drunkenness is not a new vice. Its ravages have always been a scourge on the human race . . .Alcohol is a killer, a murderer.

Drinking also maroons you without provisions on the island of self. Like most other promises it makes, alcohol's vow of kinship, that it will bridge your life to others, smooth the way, proves false. Fooled again: you're alone.

Drinking turns a fool into a merry fool.

Drink, drink! Bacchus is the enemy of Venus. "From The Diary Of An Orange Tree

... drink levels all mankind. It is the ultimate democrat

Drugs are also a part of school life in particular marijuana. Alcohol beverages, prostitution - not so much on campus - but that is a way of survival for some young women and young men. These are societal ills.

Drunkenness is better for the body than physic! Drink always, and you shall never die!

Drinking has become one of the most serious social problems. It is basically the result of an attempt to escape from the responsibilities and realities of life.

Drummond appreciated his guest's initial silence, his respect for the ancient, sacred act of imbibing. Drink first, talk later.

Drinking is such a necessity to human life that people cannot fathom an individual who, like a child confined to a church pew, gets little enjoyment out of it and would rather do other things.

Driving down deserted early morning roads. Round and round. Round downtown. Through naked streets. Lips pursed on two litre bottles of beer, but pursuing the lips of freedom's night. Swapping cars. Winding up at karaoke bars or Bolsi- the best place in town. For the food. For the folk. For the service. For the crema de papaya. And for that late night dawn's whiskey coffee.

Earth is necessity, not Mars. Food and water are necessities, not alcohol and cigarettes.

Ever since, in the U.K. they banned smoking in public places, I've never enjoyed a drinks party ever again. And the reason, I only worked out just the other day, is when you go to a drinks party and you stand up and you hold a glass of red wine and you talk endlessly to people, you don't actually want to spend all the time talking. It's really, really tiring. Sometimes you just want to stand there silently, alone with your thoughts. Sometimes you just want to stand in the corner and stare out of the window. Now the problem is, when you can't smoke, if you stand and stare out of the window on your own, you're an antisocial, friendless idiot. If you stand and stare out of the window on your own with a cigarette, you're a fucking philosopher.

Escapism seems to be the order of the day . . .Escape with drugs or alcohol, and the bitterness of living will be blurred . . .We can’t escape from God.

Every full bottle of alcohol has a message in it, a surprise that one will not discover until one drinks it

Every morning Mrs Eglantine sat at the round bamboo bar of the New Pacific Hotel and drank her breakfast. This consisted of two quick large brandies, followed by several slower ones. By noon breakfast had become lunch and by two o'clock the pouches under and above Mrs Eglantine's bleared blue eyes began to look like large puffed pink prawns.

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.

Far above him a few white clouds were racing windily after a pale gibbous moon. Drink all morning, they said to him, drink all day. This is life!