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Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.
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It’s pretty impossible to hurt what Death protects.
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He closed his eyes and let out a jagged breath. "Okay." He settled between my legs holding himself over me. "I've never been with a virgin, Eva. I'm going to try real hard not to hurt you." "Will it hurt you?" I asked, thinking about his pained expression when he'd said I was too tight. He smiled, "It's going to be the closest to heaven I'll ever get, baby.
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To justify God's ways to man.
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It had been three weeks, four days and twelve hours since I'd seen her. Since she'd torn my heart out. If I had been drinking, I'd blame it on the alcohol. It had to be an illusion, a desperate one. But I hadn't been drinking. Not a drop. There was no mistaking Blaire. It was her. She was actually here. Blaire was back in Rosemary. She was at my house.
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I started drinking Scotch just to be a man.
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Alright, remember, alcohol equals puke equals smelly mess equals nobody likes you.
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When I sell liquor, it's bootlegging. When my patrons serve it on a silver tray on Lakeshore Drive, it's hospitality.
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The troubles of our proud and angry dust are from eternity, and shall not fail. Bear them we can, and if we can we must. Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
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In my opinion, most of the great men of the past were only there for the beer - the wealth, prestige and grandeur that went with the power.
