|
1db19a9
|
"Go to bed, you fool," Calcifer said sleepily. "You're drunk." "Who, me?" said Howl. "I assure you, my friends, I am cone sold stober." He got up and stalked upstairs, feeling for the wall as if he thought it might escape him unless he kept in touch with it. His bedroom door did escape him."
|
|
sober
drunk
howl
|
Diana Wynne Jones |
|
e5923c4
|
"Kiss me again," he says, drunk and foolish. "Kiss me until I am sick of it." --
|
|
want
kiss
foolish
sick
drunk
|
Holly Black |
|
801599d
|
They're professionals at this in Russia, so no matter how many Jell-O shots or Jager shooters you might have downed at college mixers, no matter how good a drinker you might think you are, don't forget that the Russians - any Russian - can drink you under the table.
|
|
drinking
liquor
vodka
russian
drunk
russia
|
Anthony Bourdain |
|
bc262f2
|
"Jamie," I said, "how, exactly, do you decide whether you're drunk?" Aroused by my voice, he swayed alarmingly to one side, but caught himself on the edge of the mantelpiece. His eyes drifted around the room, then fixed on my face. For an instant, they blazed clear and pellucid with intelligence. "och, easy, Sassenach, If ye can stand up, you're not drunk." He let go of the mantelpiece, took a step toward me, and crumpled slowly onto the hearth, eyes blank, and a wide, sweet smile on his dreaming face."
|
|
jamie-fraser
drunk
|
Diana Gabaldon |
|
3b9bcf2
|
I thought about the days i had handed over to a bottle..the nights i can't remember..the mornings i slept thru..all the time spent running from myself.
|
|
bottle
life
days
remorse
running
drunk
remember
forget
|
Mitch Albom |
|
6f641b2
|
Jon:'What are you doing up there? Why aren't you at the feast?' Tyrion: 'Too hot, too noisy, and I'd drunk too much wine', the dwarf told him. 'I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother.
|
|
alcohol
dwarf
feast
tyrion-lannister
jon-snow
drunk
|
George R.R. Martin |
|
d664c0c
|
I am alive, and drunk on sunlight.
|
|
jaime-lannister
sun
sunlight
drunk
|
George R.R. Martin |
|
21da159
|
Jack, you've debauched my sloth.
|
|
sloth
drunk
|
Patrick O'Brian |
|
26ba7b1
|
You can't just make me different and then leave
|
|
loss
death
love
driving
drunk
lost
dying
|
John Green |
|
c117e63
|
Your party kicked so much ass!Even though you suck so much! It's like, instead of blood, your heart pumps liquid suck! But thanks for the beer!
|
|
drunk
|
John Green |
|
d234f4d
|
He snuffles. Oh, no. He's not going to cry, is he? Because even though it's sweet when guys cry, I am so not prepared for this. Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.
|
|
humor
girl-scuts
crying
drunk
|
Stephanie Perkins |
|
4dabdc5
|
"Our eyes meet, and something dangerous sparks. I remind myself. "Kiss me again," he says, drunk and foolish. "Kiss me until I am sick of it." I feel those words, feel them like a kick to the stomach. He sees my expression and laughs, a sound full of mockery. I can't tell which of us he's laughing at. After a moment, his eyes flutter closed. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he's talking to himself. "If you're the sickness, I suppose you can't also be the cure." He drifts off to sleep, but I am wide awake."
|
|
want
kiss
hate
drunk
desire
sickness
|
Holly Black |
|
314b3cf
|
Just because you're sober, don't think you're a good driver, Cookie.
|
|
sober
self-importance
driving
drunk
|
John Irving |
|
c691ea6
|
It seemed that I performed better sober than drunk. Who knew?
|
|
sober
alcohol
drunk
|
Craig Ferguson |
|
637aefc
|
I forgave everybody, I gave up, I got drunk.
|
|
travel
gave-up
resign
forgiveness
drunk
beat-generation
|
Jack Kerouac |
|
8e1a42a
|
Mr Cobb was my escort. Such a nice escort, Mr Cobb. So attentive. You should see him sober. 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.
|
|
drunkenness
drunk
|
Raymond Chandler |
|
ee2d77e
|
He really is a cunt ay the first order. Nae about that. The big problem is, he's a mate na aw. Whit kin ye dae?
|
|
truth
junkie
drunk
|
Irvine Welsh |
|
9595dac
|
Oh my God. I'm not Keith Richards. I'm Otis from Mayberry! A fucking drunk!
|
|
the-rolling-stones
keith-richards
drunk
|
Dave Mustaine |
|
cf82ee0
|
I was sprawled out in my usual position on the couch, half asleep but entirely drunk, torturing myself by tearing memories out of my mind at random like matches from a book, striking them one at a time and drowsily setting myself on fire.
|
|
grief
sadness
drink
drunkeness
fire
drunk
|
Jonathan Tropper |
|
43d03d8
|
On the way down the hill we walked three abreast in the cobblestone street, drunk and laughing and talking like men who knew they would separate at dawn and travel to the far corners of the earth.
|
|
stroll
drunk
journey
|
Hunter S. Thompson |
|
483f46f
|
"Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that." "Always looking after your best interests," I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned. "Human fool," he hissed. But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next. "I'm going to paint you," I said, and giggled--actually giggled--as the words popped out. "Cauldron boil and fry me," he muttered, and I laughed again."
|
|
faerie-wine
feyre
tamlin
lucien
drunk
faerie
|
Sarah J. Maas |
|
045e85d
|
There were, however, a few exceptions. One was Norma Dodsworth, the poet, who had not unpleasantly drunk but had been sensible enough to pass out before any violent action proved necessary. He had been deposited, not very gently, on the lawn, where it was hoped that a hyena would give him a rude awakening. For all practical purposes he could, therefore, be regarded as absent.
|
|
humorous
funny
drink
drunk
|
Arthur C. Clarke |
|
1cac7a6
|
"Well, I've kept you waiting long enough," he said, peering at me from that distance which drinking adds between people and which, at odd turns in the evening, seems closeness itself."
|
|
drunk
intimacy
|
Ray Bradbury |
|
024f860
|
And even in the open air the stench of whiskey was appalling. To this fiendish poison, I am certain, the greater part of the squalor I saw is due. Many of these vermin were obviously not foreigners--I counted at least five American countenances in which a certain vanished decency half showed through the red whiskey bloating. Then I reflected upon the power of wine, and marveled how self-respecting persons can imbibe such stuff, or permit it to be served upon their tables. It is the deadliest enemy with which humanity is faced. Not all the European wars could produce a tenth of the havock occasioned among men by the wretched fluid which responsible governments allow to be sold openly. Looking upon that mob of sodden brutes, my mind's eye pictured a scene of different kind; a table bedecked with spotless linen and glistening silver, surrounded by gentlemen immaculate in evening attire--and in the reddening faces of those gentlemen I could trace the same lines which appeared in full development of the beasts of the crowd. Truly, the effects of liquor are universal, and the shamelessness of man unbounded. How can reform be wrought in the crowd, when supposedly respectable boards groan beneath the goblets of rare old vintages? Is mankind asleep, that its enemy is thus entertained as a bosom friend? But a week or two ago, at a parade held in honour of the returning Rhode Island National Guard, the Chief Executive of this State, Mr. Robert Livingston Beeckman, prominent in New York, Newport, and Providence society, appeared in such an intoxicated condition that he could scarce guide his mount, or retain his seat in the saddle, and he the guardian of the liberties and interests of that Colony carved by the faith, hope, and labour of Roger Williams from the wilderness of savage New-England! I am perhaps an extremist on the subject of prohibition, but I can see no justification whatsoever for the tolerance of such a degrading demon as drink.
|
|
sobriety
drinking
ale
booze
straight-edge
teetotal
teetotaler
lovecraft
beer
drunkeness
drunk
poison
|
H.P. Lovecraft |
|
9017673
|
"The honky-tonk bartender, who doubled as bouncer, waiter, and cashier, was in no mood to compromise. Mercy was not in him. He came out around the open end of the long counter, waddled threatening across the floor in a sullen, red-faced fury and began to shake the inanimate figure lying across the table with its head bedded on its arms. "Hey, you! Do your sleeping in the gutter!" If you gave these bums an inch; they took a yard. And this one was a particularly glaring example of the genus bar-fly. He was in here all the time like this, inhaling smoke and then doing a sunset across the table. He'd been in here since four this afternoon. The boss and he, who were partners in the joint - the bartender called it jernt - would have been the last ones to claim they were running a Rainbow Room, but at least they were trying to give the place a little class, keep it above the level of a Bowery smoke-house; they even paid a guy to pound the piano and a canary to warble three times a week. And then bums like this had to show up and give the place a bad look! He shook the recumbent figure again, more roughly than the first time. Shook him so violently that the whole reedy table under him rattled and threatened to collapse. "Come on, clear out, I said! Pay me for what you had and get outa here!" ("I'm Dangerous Tonight")"
|
|
barfly
bartender
bum-s-rush
bums
drunk
|
Cornell Woolrich |
|
5322620
|
"Oh, I'm Chrissy Mackenzie, I'm from Vancouver but I came here to study environmental journalism," the girl exclaimed with way too much enthusiasm. "You got any advice?" "Search me," Mandy muttered, spooning another ice cube from the empty glass on the table in front of her. "I like pollution, I write in favor of it, and environmental journalism most often implies that it's in favor of all that "go green" hippie crap." "Oh, well...." Chrissy seemed taken aback, offended, and Mandy sighed a fourth time. "Damn it, I'm really sorry," she apologized, smiling dismally at the aspiring writer. "It's just been a really lousy day for me and I wasn't really thinking. My advice? Find your own cause to represent, not one thrown out into society by a ton of environmentalist dopes. Find something new, something you think could be improved, and work from there." Chrissy smiled with a look of total ecstasy as if the words of some nobody woman were important. Mandy momentarily noticed the groups of laughing, drunk, giggling people, all acting childish... and for a moment she wished she could be them."
|
|
world
joy
change
hope
drea
environmntal
gol
ice-cube
vancouver
cape-breton
nova-scotia
hippie
journalist
pollution
improve
friend
peace
drunk
sad
|
Rebecca McNutt |
|
a06eb1b
|
"A late arrival had the impression of lots of loud people unnecessarily grouped within a smoke-blue space between two mirrors gorged with reflections. Because, I suppose, Cynthia wished to be the youngest in the room, the women she used to invite, married or single, were, at the best, in their precarious forties; some of them would bring from their homes, in dark taxis, intact vestiges of good looks, which, however, they lost as the party progressed. It has always amazed me - the capacity sociable weekend revelers have of finding almost at once, by a purely empiric but very precise method, a common denominator of drunkenness, to which everybody loyally sticks before descending, all together, to the next level. The rich friendliness of the matrons was marked by tomboyish overtones, while the fixed inward look of amiably tight men was like a sacrilegious parody of pregnancy. Although some of the guests were connected in one way or another with the arts, there was no inspired talk, no wreathed, elbow-propped heads, and of course no flute girls. From some vantage point where she had been sitting in a stranded mermaid pose on the pale carpet with one or two younger fellows, Cynthia, her face varnished with a film of beaming sweat, would creep up on her knees, a proffered plate of nuts in one hand, and crisply tap with the other the athletic leg of Cochran or Corcoran, an art dealer, ensconced, on a pearl-grey sofa, between two flushed, happily disintegrating ladies. At a further stage there would come spurts of more riotous gaiety. Corcoran or Coransky would grab Cynthia or some other wandering woman by the shoulder and lead her into a corner to confront her with a grinning imbroglio of private jokes and rumors, whereupon, with a laugh and a toss of her head, he would break away. And still later there would be flurries of intersexual chumminess, jocular reconciliations, a bare fleshy arm flung around another woman's husband (he standing very upright in the midst of a swaying room), or a sudden rush of flirtatious anger, of clumsy pursuit-and the quiet half smile of Bob Wheeler picking up glasses that grew like mushrooms in the shade of chairs. ("The Vane Sisters")"
|
|
party
drunk
|
Vladimir Nabokov |
|
475d6fa
|
Being loud after drinking wine doesn't help. Being silent after drinking wine doesn't help. Nothing really ever gets solved either way.
|
|
violence
arguing
dysfunction
alcoholism-addiction-recovery
fighting
child
drunk
wine
mental-illness
|
Mariel Hemingway |
|
637df8d
|
The cop looks annoyed, like we're giving him a headache. I want to explain everything to him that its really not as screwed up as it all sounds, but then I remember that it is.
|
|
drunk
|
Jonathan Tropper |
|
1557884
|
As Martin noted, to the detective conducting his interview, it was a good thing he'd been inebriated, because otherwise he would have wasted time screaming and running about- especially once he realized he was standing in a pool of blood.
|
|
drunk
|
Ben Aaronovitch |