A Quote by H. L. Mencken

A prohibitionist is the sort of man one couldn't care to drink with, even if he drank. — © H. L. Mencken
A prohibitionist is the sort of man one couldn't care to drink with, even if he drank.
There is an Indian fable of three beings who drank from a river: one was a god, and he drank ambrosia; one was a man, and he drank water; and one was a demon, and he drank filth. What you get is a function of your own consciousness.
I believe I was born an addict, and alcoholic. The first time I drank alcohol, I just wanted more and more. During my teens and early 20s I did not drink often, but when I did, it was with great gusto. That is, I always drank enough to get drink.
An abstainer is the sort of man you wouldn't want to drink with even if he did.
When people ask me why are you singing a drinking song if you don't drink anymore, because when I did drink I drank enough to sing drinking songs for the rest of my life!
Every single night, there seemed to be the same seven or eight guys - Harry Nilsson, myself, Mickey Dolenz, Bernie Taupin, Keith Moon when he was in town. It was actually sort of a social club - drinking club - for rock stars that drank - seriously drank.
Drink it,” I told her. “It’s good for what ails you. Caffeine and sugar. I don’t drink it, so I ran over to your house and stole the expensive stuff in your freezer. It shouldn’t be that bad. Samuel told me to make it strong and pour sugar into it. It should taste sort of like bitter syrup.” She gave me a smile smile, then a bigger one, and plugged her nose before she drank it down in one gulp. “Next time," she said in a hoarse voice, “I make the coffee.
At the punch-bowl's brink, let the thirsty think, what they say in Japan: first the man takes a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes the man!
Christ took your cup of grief, your cup of the curse, pressed it to his lips, drank it to its dregs, then filled it with his sweet, pardoning, sympathizing love, and gave it back for you to drink, and to drink forever!
Neither drink [coffee or tea] was known in Frankish lands, but seated in the coffeehouses, I drank of each at various times, twirling my moustache and listening with attention to that headier draught, the wine of the intellect, that sweet and bitter juice distilled from the vine of thought and the tree of man's experience.
I drank to be funny, or sexy. I drank because I was afraid or happy or sad, and I drank for anything that required emotional commitment. ... I had chosen a profession that thrives on insecurity, and is never far from some source of social intercourse that involves alcohol or drugs.
I couldn't get myself to read the want ads. The thought of sitting in front of a man behind a desk and telling him that I wanted a job, that I was qualified for a job, was too much for me. Frankly, I was horrified by life, at what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep himself clothed. So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn't have you by the throat.
Obviously, I care about the kids. Family, all that sort of stuff. But really, I don't care about life, don't care about death. Nothing. That's the kind of man you are dealing with. That's why I can't be beaten.
I acquired that drinker's face before I drank. Drink only confirmed it. The space for it existed in me.
My body is weird. I can't drink strong drinks. I can't even drink cough medicine - I used to cry when my mom forced me. I don't drink alcohol.
I don't drink much anymore, but when I traveled with Frank Sinatra, God rest his soul, I used to drink like I could do it. He made it a test. In Vegas, the Rat Pack, which I was a little part of, drank all night and slept most of the day. Then, about 5 o'clock, we'd meet in the hotel steam room, lock the door, and steam our brains out.
I'll drink your champagne. I'll drink every drop of it, I don't care if it kills me.
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