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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #alcohol
Sex mirrored our drinking; both defined our relationship: selfish, detached, indulgent and satisfying." A Change Is Gonna Come ↗
#change #drinking #dysfunctional #relationship #self-indulgent
We are not cured of alcoholism. What we have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition. Every day is a day when we must carry the vision of God's will into all of our daily activities. ↗
There was a kindliness about intoxication - there was that indescribable gloss and glamour it gave, like the memories of ephemeral and faded evenings. ↗
For the first twenty years of my life, I rocked myself to sleep. It was a harmless enough hobby, but eventually, I had to give it up. Throughout the next twenty-two years I lay still and discovered that after a few minutes I could drop off with no problem. Follow seven beers with a couple of scotches and a thimble of good marijuana, and it’s funny how sleep just sort of comes on its own. Often I never even made it to the bed. I’d squat down to pet the cat and wake up on the floor eight hours later, having lost a perfectly good excuse to change my clothes. I’m now told that this is not called “going to sleep” but rather “passing out,” a phrase that carries a distinct hint of judgment. ↗
Dr. Jeff Herten’s book, The Sobering Truth, is a valuable and necessary addition to the thoughtful person’s library. Too often in today’s world, the perils of alcohol are overlooked, sneered at or dismissed. We are bombarded with the glossy, manufactured image of the drinker surrounded by alluring members of the opposite sex, expensive or exotic locales or deliriously happy sports fans. The message is clear: consume our product and you, too, can have all this. And, too often, the public buys into this image. What adult wouldn’t want to achieve all those unfulfilled pipe dreams hidden away since adolescence? These false illusions disguise the deadly aftermath of the consumption of booze. Binge drinking among college students has reached epidemic proportions, with several deaths by alcohol poisoning reported in the media. Ask those who live near off-campus housing or the local police about the problem. Carefully, logically and in clear language Dr. Herten explains the insidious effects of alcohol on the human body–all of it. He relates the specific damage that occurs when the functions of particular organs are attacked and eroded by liquor. Carefully avoiding impossible-to-pronounce medical terms, he presents a compelling case for the need for everyone to recognize these dangers. Jeff Herten brings two-fold expertise to the book: He is a highly respected dermatologist, dermatopathologist and medical school professor; and a former high-functioning alcoholic. His story of slipping into the hazy area of addiction is compelling and the reader can easily see danger hidden in the socially acceptable, even desirable, lure of the casual cocktail or beer. Herten never whines, but rather presents in an honest and straightforward manner the sequence of his casual drinking that led to the recognition of his problem. The reader clearly understands how his condition was hidden from colleagues, family and self. Alcoholism, he says, often lies hidden, and always is the subject of fierce denial. Dr. Herten not only presents the perils of drinking, but presents a path to recovery. His easy-to-read, The Sobering Truth, provides invaluable knowledge. It is an honest, courageous and well-written book. ↗
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") ↗
It was one of those things they keep in a jar in the tent of a sideshow on the outskirts of a little, drowsy town. One of those pale things drifting in alcohol plasma, forever dreaming and circling, with its peeled, dead eyes staring out at you and never seeing you. It went with the noiselessness of late night, and only the crickets chirping, the frogs sobbing off in the moist swampland. One of those things in a big jar that makes your stomach jump as it does when you see a preserved arm in a laboratory vat. ↗
#drifting #jar #jars #noiselessness #pale
Beloved, we join hands here to pray for gin. An aridity defiles us. Our innards thirst for the juice of juniper. Something must be done. The drought threatens to destroy us. Surely, God who let manna fall from the heavens so that the holy children of Israel might eat, will not let the equally holy children of Niggeratti Manor die from the want of a little gin. Children, let us pray. ↗
