Best 1158 quotes in «alcohol quotes» category

Trust me. You can dance. - VODKA

Two wives despaired of him,’ he said. ‘When he got engaged to Sylvia, she made it a condition that he should take the cure at Zurich. And it worked. He came back in three months a different man. And he hasn't touched a drop since, even though Sylvia walked out on him.’ ‘Why did she do that?’ Well, poor Charlie got rather a bore when he stopped drinking. But that’s not really the point of the story.

Under the spell of alcohol your differences recede.

Understand now, I'm purely a fiction writer and do not profess to be an earnest student of political science, but I believe strongly that such a law as one prohibiting liquor is foolish.

Unless your sober life is more meaningful than your drunk life, you’re going to relapse. YOU create the life that matters.

Used with care, substances that harm neural tissue, such as alcohol, can aid intelligence: you corrode the chromium, giggly, crossword puzzle-solving parts of your mind with pain and poison, forcing the neurons to take responsibility for themselves and those around them, toughening themselves against the accelerated wear of these artificial solvents. After a night of poison. your brain wakes up in the morning saying, “No, I don't give a shit who introduced the sweet potato into North America.

Usually after a good puke you feel better right away. We hugged each other and then said good-bye and went off to opposite ends of the hall to lie down in our own rooms. There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.

Valence passa une main sur ses yeux et quitta la fenêtre. -L'alcool est là, lui dit Néron en tendant les bras.

Verslaving heeft volgens mij altijd te maken met het herstellen van een evenwicht tussen gevoel en verstand. Iemand die veel drinkt benevelt zijn geest en dat benevelen is noodzakelijk om een controle over het lichaam te verliezen. Je houdt dat lichaam alleen maar rechtop, voedt, wast en kleedt het naar behoren, als je nadenkt. Je kunt ook te veel nadenken over het lichaam en het daardoor belemmeren in het ondergaan van plezier, van genot.

Volnaka ... did a remarkable job of getting anyone drunk with alacrity. It also worked well as a combustible in lamps, as paint remover, was a marvelous antiseptic and was singularly effective at erasing any memory of ever having imbibed it

Watching a parent die is a terrible task. My father, faced with something he could not talk down or browbeat into submission, spent his days with the bottle, as if he determined to drink himself to death, as if his alcohol could hold back the disease that swept through his brain.

We always suffered from one another and yet we loved each other on buggy beds. The lack of color created by such a lifestyle leaves one almost helpless beside the road of life

We do not want to believe that we cannot control alcohol and that alcohol is, in truth, controlling and dictating our lives. When you free yourself of a dictator, like alcohol, the freedom that you experience is totally amazing and so empowering. You get your life back.

We named the bar The Bar. "People will think we're ironic instead of creatively bankrupt," my sister reasoned. Yes, we thought we were being clever New Yorkers - that the name was a joke no one else would really get, like we did. Not meta-get ... But our first customer, a gray-haired woman in bifocals and a pink jogging suit, said, "I like the name. Like in Breakfast at Tiffany's and Audrey Hepburn's cat was named Cat.

Well, I may get drunk," the Widow admitted, "but I don't stagger. Sometimes I fall down. But I don't stagger.

We need to make sure we are doing what Jesus said and not what we thought Jesus must have said. The textbook case against Christian activism can be made in one word—Prohibition—the word that would have made the Lord Jesus at Cana into a moonshiner felon. We did a great job there of setting aside the Word of God for the sake of our tradition

Well," she asked, "how do you gentlemen like living in a haunted house?" "It's perfectly fine," Luke said, "perfectly fine. It gives me an excuse to have a drink in the middle of the night.

We shared an explosive enthusiasm that we blasted out of our bodies with alcohol.

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.

We've reached the age where we can't function without our glasses. Especially if they're empty.

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

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 life gives you juniper berries, make gin!

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

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 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 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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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?" 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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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