Best 1158 quotes in «alcohol quotes» category

It might be in a saloon with jingled townsmen, or with a genial railroad man well lighted up and armed with pocket flasks, or with a bunch of alki stiffs in a hang-out. Yes; and it might be in a prohibition state...

I took a breath. Pictured the bed waiting for me upstairs. Then retreated to the lobby bar alone and ordered an ice-cold gin martini, a small signal to myself that my work was done. I held the glass, its inverted construction an insult to gravity and the order of things. Just like our Movement, from the outside the balance of power seems all wrong. But hold a martini glass in your hand and you know instinctively that it is just right.

I took another draught and my mouth was awash again in a riptide of bitter, bubbly, CO2 eruptions and the fruity splash of malted barley. What a sensation! I wasn't sure if I liked it at first, but by bottle's end I was a dedicated fan.

It's meant I will act like less of an asshole, but feel much more like one.

It's six o'clock; my drink is at the three-quarter mark - three-quarters down not three-quarters up - and the night begins. ("New York Blues")

It starts raining harder, I've got a long way to go walking and pushing that sore leg right along in the gathering rain, no chance no intention whatever of hailing a cab, the whiskey and the Morphine have made me unruffled by the sickness of the poison in my heart.

It's too warm for red wine; now I mix gin and tonics instead. I find they make the ordinary sensation of living lighter, less ruffled.

It was baking hot in the square when we came out after lunch with our bags and the rod-case to go to Burguete. People were on top of the bus, and others were climbing up a ladder. Bill went up and Robert sat beside Bill to save a place for me, and I went back in the hotel to get a couple of bottles of wine to take with us. When I came out the bus was crowded. Men and women were sitting on all the baggage and boxes on top, and the women all had their fans going in the sun. It certainly was hot. Robert climbed down and fitted into the place he had saved on the one wooden seat that ran across the top. Robert Cohn stood in the shade of the arcade waiting for us to start. A Basque with a big leather wine-bag in his lap lay across the top of the bus in front of our seat, leaning back against our legs. He offered the wine-skin to Bill and to me, and when I tipped it up to drink he imitated the sound of a klaxon motor-horn so well and so suddenly that spilled some of the wine, and everybody laughed. He apologized and made me take another drink. He made the klaxon again a little later, and it fooled me the second time. He was very good at it. The Basques liked it. The man next to Bill was talking to him in Spanish and Bill was not getting it, so he offered the man one of the bottles of wine. The man waved it away. He said it was too hot and he had drunk too much at lunch. When Bill offered the bottle the second time he took a long drink, and then the bottle went all over that part of the bus. Every one took a drink very politely, and then they made us cork it up and put it away. They all wanted us to drink from their leather wine-bottles. They were peasants going up into the hills.

It wasn't some Puritan thing. Straight-edge was asking adherents to take control of their lives, not to be blind consumers, and not to be tricked into thinking that drinking and drugs were cool since in fact they were the tools of a previous generation

It was one of those things they keep in a jar in the tent of a sideshow on the outskirts of a little, drowsy town. One of those pale things drifting in alcohol plasma, forever dreaming and circling, with its peeled, dead eyes staring out at you and never seeing you. It went with the noiselessness of late night, and only the crickets chirping, the frogs sobbing off in the moist swampland. One of those things in a big jar that makes your stomach jump as it does when you see a preserved arm in a laboratory vat.

I've found, though, that people are more likely to share their personal experiences if you go first, so that's why I always keep an eleven-point list of what went wrong in my childhood to share with them. Also I usually crack open a bottle of tequila to share with them, because alcohol makes me less nervous, and also because I'm from the South, and in Texas we offer drinks to strangers even when we're waiting in line at the liquor store. In Texas we call that '_southern hospitality_.' The people who own the liquor store call it 'shoplifting.' Probably because they're Yankees. I'm not allowed to go back to that liquor store.

I understood drinking to be the gasoline of all adventure.

It will all be over in 2 weeks

I've heard many recovering alcoholics say they've never found a church quite like Alcoholics Anonymous. They've never found a community of people so honest with one another about their pain, so united in their shared brokenness.

Liza hated alcoholic liquors with an iron zeal. Drinking alcohol in any form she regarded as a crime against a properly outraged deity... When LIza was about seventy her elimination slowed up and her doctor told her to take a tablespoon of port wine for medicine. She forced down the first spoonful, making a crooked face, but it was not so bad. And from that moment she never drew a completely sober breath. She always took the wine in a tablespoon, it was always medicine, but after a time she was doing over a quart a day and she was a much more relaxed and happy woman.

I want a new liver to replace my heart." "Um, why?" "Because then I could drink more and care less.

I was a fool, alone, preparing to do what every fool did at such times—I was going to a bar to drink myself smart.

I was glad to be made aware that “Veimke” (jeune fille au pair), is subject to natural law, and can be made fat, by such things as poor diet, and alcohol.

I was born three drinks short of comfortable...'" "But I knew what that guy meant about the way he was born three drinks short. It made me think about the first beer I ever drank, down at North Beach with a bunch of kids one summer night. It made me think about that first exquisite relief. It made me think about my ex-husband, Scott, who always said I should stop after the third drink. "That's when you get out of control," he'd say. I had no idea what we was talking about. After a couple of drinks is when I start to feel IN control.

I wonder if they were aware of the power of complimentary alcohol during World War I.

Lovecraft says he knows about tentacles but that motherfucker never bedded a girl from West Chester and survived She was a toothache that one and she tasted like crack the best thing about her was if I was ever hungry I could always make a meal out of whatever was making rest at the corners of her mouth I can't remember her name as is the case with most of them then again I can't remember how many donuts I ate this morning or how many beers I'll drink tonight, tomorrow

My father gave me everything he had. Everything I had I gave to alcohol.

Love is alcohol.

Love is like liquor. In love, u feel high as u feel when you drink too much alcohol. It stays in your head for some time, making u tipsy n turvy and disconnected with everything. But just like it's effect fades away slowly and slowly, aching your every nerve so does the after effects of falling out of love. No drug can soothe it away.

Millions of deaths would not have happened if it weren’t for the consumption of alcohol. The same can be said about millions of births.

Mixing old wine with new wine is stupidity, but mixing old wisdom with new wisdom is maturity.

Mr Cobb was my escort. Such a nice escort, Mr Cobb. So attentive. You should see him sober. I should see him sober. Somebody should see him sober. I mean, just for the record. So it could become a part of history, that brief flashing moment, soon buried in time, but never forgotten - when Larry Cobb was sober.

My body is like a Temple in Nepal. It is sacred, but has a lot of damage from the earthquake of my youth!

My dream was one day ordering a drink and finding out it tasted wonderful.

My first incident drinking alcohol occurred after a 2-month period in which I stole wine coolers and beers from my parents and hid them in different places around my room. I was 14 years old, in eighth grade. I invited a friend over one night after I had stolen enough. After 2 wine coolers the friend interrupted me, saying, "Hold on," and vomited into a trash can. I vomited a lot into the toilet. The next day, like a dumbass, I put the empty wine cooler and beer bottles in our outside garbage bin without trying to cover them. My dad caught me as a result, but hid it from my mom for unknown reasons.

My head was dizzy, but what of that? Float, stupid wooden head, and care nothing for tomorrow.

My mind feels like a beehive without the buzz.

My mother agreed to aid my abuse of alcohol but only if I promised never to tell my newly converted Mormon sister, whose identity I had stolen.

My uncle would have about ten pints some nights and then drive us all home. I guess the feeling was that we weren't going to crash into anyone, because barely any fucker lived there.

Nagbibigay na, sinasakal pa. Iyan ang Ginebra.

Lucy preferred gin and tonics during the summer and switched over to whiskey sours in the winter. At dinner, a sit-down affair with the family, Lucy drank whatever the Temerlins drank, including expensive French wines. "She never gets obnoxious, even when smashed to the brink of unconsciousness," wrote Maurice, revealing more about the chimp's alcoholism than perhaps he intended. At one point, he tried to wean Lucy off the good stuff and onto Boone's Farm apple wine. Assuming she would delight in the fruity swill, he purchased a case and filled her glass one night at dinner. Lucy took a sip of the apple wine, noticed her parents were drinking something else, and put her glass down. She then graabbed Maurice's glass of Chablis and polished it off. She finished Jane's next. Not another sip of Boone's farm ever touched her lips.

Money, like vodka, makes a man queer

My tongue thirsty for superiority, maybe even immortality, ruled me. I was ruled by my tongue. I was ruled by women. I was ruled by alcohol.

Nación en que abundan los hijos de alcohólicos, ésta condenada a vivir en el desconcierto, en la vacilación, en la festinación y en la inconstancia.

Need 'nother whiskey. Whiskey chaser. Gotta get two men drunk." Mr. Cohan placed both hands on the bar. "Mr. Walsh," he said severely, "in Gavagan's we will serve a man a drink to wet his whistle, or even because his old woman has pasted him with a dornick, but a drink to get drunk with I do not sell. Now I'm telling you you've had enough for tonight, and in the morning you'll be thanking me..." ("My Brother's Keeper")

No drugs, no alcohol, no cigarettes.

No one ever found any answers at the bottom of a bottle. Not the point, of course. The point of reaching the bottom of the bottle is generally to forget the questions.

No one else “makes” us do anything. They can’t make us nag them, or make us angry, or make us have to strike out at them, or make us drink alcohol, or make us yell at them, or anything else. We are responsible for our choices, including our responses and reactions.

No other drug can compete with cannabis for its ability to satisfy the innate yearnings for Archaic boundary dissolution and yet leave intact the structures of ordinary society. If every alcoholic were a pothead, if every crack user were a pothead, if every smoker smoked only cannabis, the social consequences of the ‘drug problem’ would be transformed. Yet, as a society we are not ready to discuss the possibility of self-managed addictions and the possibility of intelligently choosing the plants we ally ourselves to. In time, and perhaps out of desperation, this will come.

Not much more than a broke disgrace who's hooked on tonics, so excuse him if his poker face has puke on it.

Not giving him booze, are you? He's a little young for it.

Nothing bonds two solitary individuals like a good shared drunk. This is a scientific fact. It’s important, even necessary for the long-term welfare of the planet to get good and shit-faced with your neighbor every now and then.

Now, my intention was to drink just enough to dull the senses, but intentions should never be mixed with alcohol.

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)

Oh, I'm not saying that alcohol is perfect. It has caused its share of problems. Russia is only one example.