Wishful Drinking: Carrie Fisher

by Carrie Fisher

I didn’t necessarily feel like dying—but I’d been feeling a lot like not being alive.

If my life wasn’t funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.

Even this book is a pathetic bid for the attention I lacked as a newborn.

He first dried her eyes with his handkerchief, then he consoled her with flowers, and he ultimately consoled her with his penis.

But after I read it . . . well, for one thing, I wanted to get my DNA fumigated.

no matter how I go, I want it reported that I drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra.

You know how they say that religion is the opiate of the masses? Well, I took masses of opiates religiously.

a problem derails your life and an inconvenience is not being able to get a nice seat on the un-derailed train.

But I think if you have the expectation that you’re going to be happy throughout your life—more to the point, if you have a need to be comfortable all the time—well, among other things, you have the makings of a classic drug addict or alcoholic.

If I could, in fact, learn to experience a quota of discomfort, it would be awesome news. And if I could consistently go to that three-hour meeting, I could also exercise, and I could write. In short, I could actually be responsible.

I never realized how fun it could be to get a current partner and a past partner together and then pit them against each other. I mean, if you can’t find a good book to read.

Turning people gay is kind of a superpower of mine.

“You know, dear, we’ve had every sort of man in our family—we’ve had horse thieves and alcoholics and one-man bands—but this is our first homosexual!”

I was invited to go to a mental hospital. And you know, you don’t want to be rude, so you go.

I heard someone say once that many of us only seem able to find heaven by backing away from hell.

“Resentment is like drinking a poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

“A fly is as likely to land on shit as it is on pie”

General Kenobi, years ago, you served my father in the Clone Wars; now he begs you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father’s request to you in person; but my ship has fallen under attack, and my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. (Proper Copper Coffee Pot.) My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi—you’re my only hope.

I can’t forget that stupid, fucking hologram speech! That’s why I did dope!