I like whiskey. I always did, and that is why I never drink it.


I made a commitment to completely cut out drinking and anything that might hamper me from getting my mind and body together. And the floodgates of goodness have opened upon me-spiritually and financially.


I never drink water. I'm afraid it will become habit-forming.


I never drink water; that is the stuff that rusts pipes.


I only drink to make other people seem more interesting.


I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; so full of valor that they smote the air, for breathing in their faces, beat the ground for kissing of their feet.


I would take a bomb, but I can't stand the noise.


I'd hate to be a teetotaler. Imagine getting up in the morning and knowing that's as good as you're going to feel all day.


I'm not so think as you drunk I am.


I'm only a beer teetotaler, not a champagne teetotaler.


I'm tied of hearing about temperance instead of abstinence, in order to please the cocktail crowd in church congregations.


I'm tired of hearing sin called sickness and alcoholism a disease. It is the only disease I know of that we're spending hundreds of millions of dollars a year to spread.


If all be true that I do think, there are five reasons we should drink: Good wine — a friend — or being dry — or lest we should be by and by — or any other reason why.


If I remember right there are five excuses for drinking: the visit of a guest, present thirst, future thirst, the goodness of the wine, and any other excuse you choose!


If merely ''feeling good'' could decide, drunkenness would be the supremely valid human experience.


If you drink, don't drive. Don't even putt.


It is immoral to get drunk because the headache comes after the drinking, but if the headache came first and the drunkenness afterwards, it would be moral to get drunk.


It pays to get drunk with the best people.


It provokes the desire but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him and it mars him; it sets him on and it takes him off.


It takes that je ne sais quoi which we call sophistication for a woman to be magnificent in a drawing-room when her faculties have departed but she herself has not yet gone home.

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