Neil: He says we’re going the wrong way.
Del: Oh he’s drunk! How would he know where we’re going?!
Neil: Yeah, how would he know?

My passion for you is intoxicating. But I’d rather be burned with desire for you rather than live my life without experiencing these awesome emotions.

I sit here
drunk now.
I am
a series of
small victories
and large defeats
and I am as
amazed
as any other
that
I have gotten
from there to
here
without committing murder
or being
murdered;
without
having ended up in the
madhouse.

as I drink alone
again tonight
my soul despite all the past
agony
thanks all the gods
who were not
there
for me
then.

Roy had communicated, days earlier, to the Zen master that I was a drunk – unreliable – either faint-hearted or vicious – therefore during the ceremony, don’t ask Bukowski for the rings because Bukowski might not be there. Or he might loose the rings, or vomit, or loose Bukowski.

Pudge: She must have been wasted. Why did we believe her when she said she wasn’t?
Takumi: Because we never knew if she was drunk or not. If she was happy or not, and we always did what she wanted.

I just want to say one thing to you. Your lips get me drunk in love.

Your love intoxicates me.

I want to get drunk in your arms.

Even the ocean of all alcohol can’t intoxicate me better than one kiss with you.

“She got drunk,” I told her. “The Colonel and I went to sleep, and I guess she drove off campus.” And that became the standard lie.

If she loved you so much, why did she leave you that night? And if you loved her so much, why’d you help her go? I was drunk. What’s your excuse?

“This is awful. This is not fun drunk.”

I got up and cleared the coffee table out of the way so the Colonel could walk the length of the room without hitting any obstacles, and said, “Okay, can you stand?”

The Colonel pushed his arms into the foam of the couch and began to rise, but then fell backward onto the couch, lying on his back. “Spinning room,” he observed. “Gonna puke.”

Actually, I hadn’t drunk since that night, and didn’t feel particularly inclined to ever take it up ever again.

“How drunk was she?” I asked. “Like, did they test her?”

“Yeah. Her BAL was point twenty-four. That’s drunk, certainly. That’s a powerful drunk.”

Could the two people who are making out please be quiet? Those of us who are not making out are drunk and tired.

We have wasted History like a bunch of drunks shooting dice back in the men’s crapper of the local bar.

My nigga Jasper said if I drink and get drunk enough I won’t feel the feelings I be feeling when I’m sobered up.

If drunk were cookies, I’d be Famous Amos.

“I’ve got a hangover!” “No, you hit your head on the floor,” Sophie said. Howl rose up on his hands and knees with a scramble. “I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve got to rescue that fool Sophie.” “I’m here!” Sophie shook his shoulder. “But so is Miss Angorian! Get up and do something about her!”

“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. “What a lie that was!” Howl remarked as he walked into the wall. “My shining dishonesty will be the salvation of me.” He walked into the wall several times more, in several different places, before he discovered his bedroom door and crashed his way through it. Sophie could hear him falling about, saying that his bed was dodging.