Drunkenness (n.) announces itself at the door: 'Good evening, gentlemen. I'm plastered.'
Drunkenness (n.) is least fitting for a guardian: it would be absurd for a guardian to need a guardian.
Drunkenness (n.) is the real question, not wine-drinking or abstinence: a custom of some weight that takes a skilled lawgiver to understand.
Drunkenness (n.) is a second childhood: it is not only the old man who becomes a child again, but the drunkard too.
Drunkenness (n.) comes in many forms: anger, love, pride, ignorance, cowardice, wealth, beauty and strength all make us fools, drunk with pleasure.
Drunkenness (n.) at conception is to be avoided: a reeling drunkard is a clumsy sower of seed and fathers unbalanced, untrustworthy children.
Drunkenness (n.) can be a disguise: Alcibiades' praise was too graceful for a drunk — the real point, dropped like an afterthought, was to come between Socrates and Agathon.