"To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better.

The spirit I drink may be poison,--it may kill me,--perhaps it _is_ killing me:--but so would hunger, cold, misery,--so would my own thoughts.

I should have gone mad without it.

Gin is the poor man's friend,--his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury.

It comforts him when he is most forlorn.