I drank through the buzz of befuddlement into perfect clarity and out again into the blissful confusion of true intoxication.

One sip of this will bathe the drooping spirits in delight, beyond the bliss of dreams.

There was a kindliness about intoxication - there was that indescribable gloss and glamour it gave, like the memories of ephemeral and faded evenings.

To be or not to be, fucked up on whiskey, that is the question.

For many of our Greek friends a book is a final desperate attempt to fill the existential void when there is no one to talk to, nothing to do, no television to view, nothing in the street to watch and even the middle distance holds nothing to stare at. To be seen carrying a book in public, let alone reading one, is a mark of eccentricity or foreignness.

If we have need of a strong will in order to do good, it is still more necessary for us in order not to do evil.