“Here, drink your liqueur," Henry said, tossing back her drink. "I carry it with me everywhere because it's the only kind of drink that Leo doesn't like, so there's a chance I'll still have some tomorrow.”

“Hey! Don't drink from my drink!"He replaced the glass on the table and looked at her. "Why?""It's my drink!""Yes. And?""You can't drink my drink!""And why not?""Because it's my drink."He sighed her name, "Leah."She mimicked his sigh sarcastically. "Lucien.”

“in the cupboard sits my bottlelike a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers.I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony,sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere,the phone rings gamboling its soundagainst the odds of the crooked sea;I drink deeply and evenly now,I drink to paradiseand deathand the lie of love.”

“Are you there vodka? It's me, Chelsea. Please get me out of jail and I promise I will never drink again. Drink and drive. I will never drink and drive again. I may even start my own group fashioned after MADD, Mothers Against Drunk Driving, but I'll call it AWLTDASH, Alcoholics Who Like to Drink and Stay Home.”

“Because of her, there is no bridge between dreams and reality. In reality, because of her, drinking a glass of water has taste. In a dream, it doesn't have taste, unless she's in it with me. I do not have to dream about her, because all of my dreams about her, is my only reality.”

“Not everyone who drinks is a poet. Some of us drink because we're not poets.”