Quotes About Hangover

Yes," she says, still smiling at me. "It's the one in the little cups." "Great. I'll take four of those." She raises one eyebrow at me. "Let me guess. You're a late riser or you tied one on last night." "Yes and yes. I had a little accident and my hosts didn't have Vicodin, so I had to make do with bourbon." "Sounds a lot like my house. Only we always have Vicodin around.

He was something of a connoisseur where hangovers were concerned and the one he had now fell squarely into the Class-A, copper-bottomed, ocean-going bastard category

You two. You can do a cleaning spell. One slurred, But Nixie, I'm really pre-hung-over. Nix's eyes went wide. Do it, or the photos go live! The witch shook her fist to the sky, crying, Damn you, Valkyrie! Damn you and your digital ways!

He'd given her the mother of all hangovers - a run-in with the wrath of grapes.

Yes, she might have managed to lift the portcullis—with concentration, an unprecedented bout of luck, and the absence of a hangover. Oh, and if she were in mortal danger. Unfortunately, her power was adrenaline-based, making it as infinite as it was uncontrollable. "You think I use magick like mine to open a tomb?" Mari asked in a scoffing tone. Mistress of bluffing, working it here.

People think of poetry as a school subject... Poetry is very frustrating to students because they don't have a taste for ambiguity, for one thing. That gives them a poetry hangover.

Tattoo parties: just like a regular party – but with a permanent hangover.

A real hangover is nothing to try out family remedies on. The only cure for a real hangover is death.

The only cure for a real hangover is death.

Kelso's hangover had gone, to be replaced by that familiar phase of post-alcoholic euphoria - always in the past, his most productive time of day - a feeling that alone was enough to make getting drunk worthwhile.

I've got a hangover." "No, you hit your head on the floor." "I can't stay. I've got to rescue that fool Sophie.

Pablo Mora has one of those hangovers where you see yourself in the mirror and think you look familiar.

There is no night life in Spain. They stay up late but they get up late. That is not night life. That is delaying the day. Night life is when you get up with a hangover in the morning. Night life is when everybody says what the hell and you do not remember who paid the bill. Night life goes round and round and you look at the wall to make it stop. Night life comes out of a bottle and goes into a jar. If you think how much are the drinks it is not night life.

I always enjoy the day after a hangover. Each time it happens, it's my own little victory over the demon drink.

IV is the quickest hangover cure on the planet. Trust me. If you ever feel like you're dying from a hangover, contact a nurse you know. A medic. An EMT. Anyone who can hook you up with some intravenous cleansing. You feel like a new man. A new man ready to haul around drunks all night.

The hangover is a fair trade for being so immobilized one cannot do anything stupid for a little while.

I'm getting too elderly to travel the length of the country for a free hangover.

Love is a disease. A social disease. A romantic, venereal, medieval disease. A hangover from the days of the fornicating troubadours and the gentlemen in iron britches.

If you seek kicks or thrills, get ready for depression. Do you want your drug? Get ready for the hangover. One end of the pendulum swings to the other.

Why do alcoholics begin down the same hazardous road day after day? They are in search of that elusive window of well-being that opens when you drink your way out of a hangover and aren't yet drunk all over again. The alcoholic's day consists of trying to keep that window open.

Maintaining your hydration status is probably the most important thing, along with rest, that you can do with a hangover.

The Consul, an inconceivable anguish of horripilating hangover thunderclapping about his skull, and accompanied by a protective screen of demons gnattering in his ears, became aware that in the horrid event of his being observed by his neighbours it could hardly be supposed he was just sauntering down his garden with some innocent horticultural object in view.

Michael Winter's fiction is a lot like hearing him talk about his life… harrowing in an after-the-fact hilarious way. Full of wonder and mystery. A hangover you wouldn't miss for the world.

Most surprising is probably that I thought I had experienced most of the low points life has to offer... but you reach new lows when you are hungover changing a nappy and throw up into it.