Best 1158 quotes in «alcohol quotes» category

Oh you dear companions Electric bells of the stations song of the reapers Butcher's sleigh regiment of unnumbered streets Cavalry of bridges nights livid with alcohol The cities I've seen lived like mad women (The Voyager)

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

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 cafés had that brilliant idea of putting up a slogan: 'the best protection against infection is a good bottle of wine', which confirmed an already prevalent opinion that alcohol is a safeguard against infectious disease. Every night, towards 2 a.m., quite a number of drunk men, ejected from the cafés , staggered down the streets, vociferating optimism.

ON GETTING DRUNK: "Those who are Christians are to see to it that they are grateful for grace and redemption and conduct themselves modestly, moderately, and soberly, so that one does not go on living the swinish life that goes on in the filthy world...." "...In my time it was considered a great shame among the nobility [drunkenness]. Now they are worse than the citizens and peasants;...We preach, but who stops it? Those who should stop it do it themselves; the princes even more. Therefore Germany is a land of hogs and a filthy people which debauches its body and its life. If you were going to paint it, you would have to paint a pig. "This gluttony is inundating us like an ocean....We are the laughingstock of all the other countries, who look upon us as filthy pigs;...It is possible to tolerate a little elevation, when a man takes a drink or two too much after working hard and when he is feeling low. This must be called a frolic. But to sit day and night, pouring it in and pouring it out again, is piggish. This is not a human way of living. not to say Christian, but rather a pig's life." - Martin Luther

Ought we to be drunk every night?" Sebastian asked one morning. "Yes, I think so." "I think so too.

p. 39 Rum, in fact, was the unspoken demon in most negotiations and failed treaties with the Delaware nation. That evil influence has been largely expunged from histories. Access to rum, or its prohibition, assured or canceled oaths and pacts no sooner than they were sworn.

Parents drinking is the reason you came into the world, and if we didn't keep doing it then, by God, it would be the reason you went back out of it.

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.

People, heed my warning: That stuff is Specials Olympics in a pint glass. You think they are harmless and not very strong, and the next thing you know it is an hour later and you are in the bathroom of the bar with your pants off, surrounded by five girls, giving your boxers to a bachelorette party because one of the girls is cute and told you that you had a nice butt. Be forewarned. - from the Austin Road Trip story

People spend half of their free time drinking alcohol and the other half watching totally sober people on television. And they want to be those people, live those lives. Ever wondered why we rarely see a person actually drinking alcohol on television? It’s because they would come across embarrassing sad-assed losers. They just wouldn't be entertaining. They would think they were.

Religion is a non-alcoholic man's alcohol. Alcohol is a non-religious man's religion.

People who quit drinking become terrified they will lose their power. They believe booze makes them the people they want to be...Alcohol is one hell of a pitchman, and perhaps his greatest lis is convincing us we need him, even as he tears us apart.

Put down your glass, it is time to dance. If you want to get drunk all you need is to drink love. Put down your pipe and do away with these childish toys. If you want to get high all you need is to breathe love. Now, can I have this dance?

Remember my friend, uncontrolled alcohol, uncontrolled casual sex and mindless indoctrination are not signs of progress, they are signs of drowning into the abyss of mental and physical degradation.

Researchers have found that peer pressure exerted within a clique has caused every one of its members to experiment with drugs, to engage in murderous gang fights, to steal autos, and to violate the seventh commandment.

Perhaps that was just a hunch." Barbee shivered again. He knew that he himself possessed what he called the "nose for news" - an intuitive perception of human motivations and the impending events that would spring from them. It wasn't a faculty he could analyze or account for, but he knew that it wasn't unusual. Most successful reporters possessed it, he believed - even though, in an age of skepticism for everything except mechanistic materialism, they wisely denied it. That dim sense had been useful to him - on those summer field trips, before Mendrick turned him out, it had led him to more than one promising prehistoric site, simply because he somehow knew where a band of wild hunters would prefer to camp, or to dig a comrade's grave. Commonly, however, that uncontrolled faculty had been more curse than blessing. It made him too keenly aware of all that people thought and did around him, kept him troubled with an uneasy alertness. Except when he was drunk. He drank too much, and knew that many other newsmen did. That vague sensitivity, he believed; was half the reason.

Pombe haina adabu. Ukilewa unakuwa mtoto tena.

Pour alcohol on a bundle of nerves and it generally turns into a can of worms.

Rather a drink be my master than a man.

She knew one thing though, Franks was wrong about her never thinking of Jay again. He was with her now. Rooted in her soul like an unextractable cancer, right at the corner of worst nightmare and fondest fantasy. And he always would be. The tequila was starting to work. The welcome warmth of numbness spread evenly through mind and body. She slammed her shot and wondered if she would ever be able to go to sleep sober again.

Sembra che io abbia una costituzione che non regge l'alcol e ancor di meno l'idiozia e l'incoerenza.

Sex had nothing to do with feeling good, everything to do with superficialities, and was always accompanied by a masochistic agenda to feel anything but dead inside.

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.

Sex mirrored our drinking; both defined our relationship: selfish, detached, indulgent and satisfying.

Shan stared at his glass, then lifted it under his nose. It was the closest he would knowingly get to tasting the hard liquor. It was not because it would violate the vows of the monks, which he had not taken, but because somehow it felt as though it would violate his teachers who still sat behind prison wire in Lhadrung.

She had a glass of Bushmills in one hand and a glass of Bacardi in the other because she was still at that stage of working out what to have for her first drink.

She picked up the stout and took a sip. It slid down her throat like silk.

[She] soon perceived that as she walked in the flock, sometimes with this one, sometimes with that, that the fresh night air was producing staggerings and serpentine courses among the men who had partaken too freely; some of the more careless women were also wandering in their gait. . . . Yet however terrestrial and lumpy their appearance just now to the mean unglamoured eye, to themselves the case was different. They followed the road with a sensation that they were soaring along in a supporting medium, possessed of original and profound thoughts, themselves and surrounding nature forming an organism of which all the parts harmoniously and joyously interpenetrated each other. They were as sublime as the moon and stars above them, and the moon and stars were as ardent as they.

She thought the jimster (Jack Daniels) would cure whatever was wrong with her- whatever made her feel like she was in a hall of mirrors, watching herself go through the motions of having a riotous good time

She wept and suffered, and finally, when Father had left the house again, she went to one of her secret places where a bottle was, and drank a tunnel away from the pain.

She was well primed with a good load of Delahunt's port under her bellyband.

Smoking’s banned in my house. Cigarettes harm your body,” he said, knocking back half of the bottle of beer.

Sniffing glue is a homeless nonbeliever's prayer.

Somebody tells you they drink because they’re a failure, it ain’t so. They’re a failure because they drink. And they drink because it’s so damn hard not to. But as long as they have a bottle that isn’t empty, they never feel far from being happy. ("Bums")

Some of the most heart-breaking letters I receive are from people who tell how alcohol or drugs have ravaged their lives and destroyed their families.

Some of our endeavours to eliminate or forget our problems invite more problems.

Some drink to forget, I drink to remember. I drink in order to understand what I mean and to discover what I know. Under its benign influence all the stories and dramas which properly belong to the sphere of art are announced by me in conversation.

Some mysterious revenge of nature has seen to it that no poem in praise of drink or tobacco (or snuff, if any) can succeed.

Some people are extroverts only when they are drunk.

Some people when they see cheese, chocolate or cake they don't think of calories.

Some people were killed by their celebration of the fact that they were still alive.

Some seek solace in whiskey, I drown my sorrows in ink.

Sottotenente Montanelli: – Bere e vivere. Cognac. Dormire e vivere e cognac. Stare all’ombra e vivere. E ancora del cognac. E non pensare a niente. Perché, se dovessimo pensare a qualcosa, dovremmo ucciderci l’un l’altro e finirla una volta per sempre. E tu leggi?

Some years ago I was invited to be on a television talk show with one of the most famous personalities in America. Afterward she took me aside and told of the emptiness in her life. “My beauty is gone,” she said, “I am getting old, I’m living on alcohol, and I have nothing to live for.

Sometimes you see English people going out to pub, bar or disco with friends, standing awkwardly together drinking beer or gin and tonic and waiting for something ‘romantic’ to happen. Usually nothing happens apart from everybody getting drunk, which is hardly romantic. So, typically, instead of meeting Mr or Miss Right they meet Mr or Miss Right Now, which lasts as long as there is enough alcohol circulating in the blood vessel.

Soon enough the tears came but of course nobody came down to see if she was all right, it was just the slut in the kitchen who'd ruined their lives, getting drunk of neat gin and howling for her lost lunatic offer.

Sophara scrawled orders on a slate and handed it to one of the libationarians, whose encyclopedic knowledge of the contents and locations of all the bottles kept the bar running.

Texting and phone calls, fireworks, blends, café au lait, and music. Yesterday's television. Work and beer. The neighbor's dog, or those strange flowers, the way it smells at Maisen. Those ordinary things I talk about with you. With you... I want to talk about love with you.

Sponge That is the plight of the writer Plied with alcohol In the name of the dream Squeezed and broken Almost to death Until a few drops Of genius Bleed