“I’ve never been into wine. I’m a beer man. What I like about beer is you basically just drink it and order more. You don’t sniff at it, or hold it up to the light and slosh it around, or drone on and on about it, the way people do with wine. Your beer drinker tend to be a straightforward, decent, friendly, down-to-earth person, whereas your serious wine fancier tends to be an insufferable snot.” — Dave Barry

“You guys came by to have some fun. You’ll come and stay all night, I fear. But I know how to make you run. I’ll serve you all generic beer.” — Irish Toast

“For every wound, a balm.
For every sorrow, cheer.
For every storm, a calm.
For every thirst, a beer.”
— Irish Toast

“Here’s to a long life and a merry one.
A quick death and an easy one.
A pretty girl and an honest one.
A cold beer—and another one!”
— Irish Toast

“Under the pressure of the cares and sorrows of our mortal condition, men have at all times, and in all countries, called in some physical aid to their moral consolations—wine, beer, opium, brandy, or tobacco.” — Edmund Burke

“Some people wanted champagne and caviar when they should have had beer and hot dogs.

“When we drink, we get drunk.
When we get drunk, we fall asleep.
When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.
When we commit no sin, we go to heaven.
So, let’s all get drunk, and go to heaven!”
— Irish Toast

“Time grows dim. Time that was so long grows short, time, all goggle-eyed, wiggling her skirts, singing her torch song, giving the boys a buzz and a ride, that Nazi Mama with her beer and sauerkraut. Time, old gal of mine, will soon dim out.” — Anne Sexton

“Instead of water we got here a draught of beer,… a lumberer’s drink, which would acclimate and naturalize a man at once,—which would make him see green, and, if he slept, dream that he heard the wind sough among the pines.” — Henry David Thoreau

“The lanky hank of a she in the inn over there
Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer;
May the devil grip the whey-faced slut by the hair
And beat bad manners out of her skin for a year.
— James Kenneth Stephens, A Glass of Beer