“A Drunkard accuses a Drunkard...A sot became extremely drunk - his legsAnd head sank listless, weighed by wine's thick dregs.A sober neighbour put him in a sackAnd took him homewards hoisted on his back.Another drunk went stumbling by the first,Who woke and stuck his head outside and cursed."Hey, you, you lousy dipsomaniac,"He yelled as he was borne off in the sack,"If you'd had fewer drinks, just two or three,You would be walking now as well as me.”

“Why are you drinking? - the little prince asked.- In order to forget - replied the drunkard.- To forget what? - inquired the little prince, who was already feeling sorry for him.- To forget that I am ashamed - the drunkard confessed, hanging his head.- Ashamed of what? - asked the little prince who wanted to help him.- Ashamed of drinking! - concluded the drunkard, withdrawing into total silence.And the little prince went away, puzzled.'Grown-ups really are very, very odd', he said to himself as he continued his journey.”

“A KING WHO PLACED MIRRORS IN HIS PALACEThere lived a king; his comeliness was suchThe world could not acclaim his charm too much.The world's wealth seemed a portion of his grace;It was a miracle to view his face.If he had rivals,then I know of none;The earth resounded with this paragon.When riding through his streets he did not failTo hide his features with a scarlet veil.Whoever scanned the veil would lose his head;Whoever spoke his name was left for dead,The tongue ripped from his mouth; whoever thrilledWith passion for this king was quickly killed.A thousand for his love expired each day,And those who saw his face, in blank dismayWould rave and grieve and mourn their lives away-To die for love of that bewitching sightWas worth a hundred lives without his light.None could survive his absence patiently,None could endure this king's proximity-How strange it was that man could neither brookThe presence nor the absence of his look!Since few could bear his sight, they were contentTo hear the king in sober argument,But while they listened they endure such painAs made them long to see their king again.The king commanded mirrors to be placedAbout the palace walls, and when he facedTheir polished surfaces his image shoneWith mitigated splendour to the throne.If you would glimpse the beauty we revereLook in your heart-its image will appear.Make of your heart a looking-glass and seeReflected there the Friend's nobility;Your sovereign's glory will illuminateThe palace where he reigns in proper state.Search for this king within your heart; His soulReveals itself in atoms of the Whole.The multitude of forms that masqueradeThroughout the world spring from the Simorgh's shade.If you catch sight of His magnificenceIt is His shadow that beguiles your glance;The Simorgh's shadow and Himself are one;Seek them together, twinned in unison.But you are lost in vague uncertainty...Pass beyond shadows to Reality.How can you reach the Simorgh's splendid court?First find its gateway, and the sun, long-sought,Erupts through clouds; when victory is won,Your sight knows nothing but the blinding sun.”

“He tilted his head to the side, still watching me in that same, disconcerting way. “Some things are true, drunk or sober. You should know that. You deal in facts all the time.”“Yeah, but this isn’t—” I couldn’t argue with him looking at me like that. “I have to go. Wait… you didn’t take the cross.” I held it out to him. He shook his head. “Keep it. I think I’ve got something else to help center my life.”

“Need 'nother whiskey. Whiskey chaser. Gotta get two men drunk." Mr. Cohan placed both hands on the bar. "Mr. Walsh," he said severely, "in Gavagan's we will serve a man a drink to wet his whistle, or even because his old woman has pasted him with a dornick, but a drink to get drunk with I do not sell. Now I'm telling you you've had enough for tonight, and in the morning you'll be thanking me..." ("My Brother's Keeper")”

“Time to go,” he says. “I already see this heading somewhere I’m too drunk to go right now. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” I jump up and run and block the window before he can leave. He stops in front of me and folds his arms over his chest. “Stay,” I say. “Please. Just lay in bed with me. We can put pillows between us and I promise not to seduce you since you’re drunk. Just stay for an hour, I don’t want you to go yet.” He immediately turns and heads back to the bed. “Okay,” he says simply. He throws himself onto my bed and pulls the covers out from beneath him. That was easy.”

“Mom's already dead!" I yelled at him. "Who the hell do you think you're saving?" And he just gave me his Sad, Tired look. It's one of the three he's got, the other two being Pissed Off and Blised Out on ESPN.”