You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.

It was like a Russian party, Arkady thought. People got drunk, recklessly confessed their love, spilled their festering dislike, had hysterics, marched out, were dragged back in and revived with brandy. It wasn't a French salon.

I assure you, my friends, I am cone sold stober.

Drunkenness is when the tongue walks on stilts and reason goes forward under half a sail.

Whiskey claims to itself alone the exclusive office of sot-making.

Weary looked at him and shook his head and put the tailgate up and drove down the gravel towards the bivouac, carrying two drunks, who both fatuously imagined, that once in a dream somewhere, sometime, someplace, they had managed for a moment to touch another human soul and understand it.