From Bukowski's Ham on Rye:

"Every time I see you you have a drink in your hand. You call that protecting yourself?"
"It's the best way I know. Without drink I would have long ago cut my god-damned throat."
"That's bullshit."
"Nothing's bullshit that works. The Pershing Square preachers have their God. I have the blood of my god!"
I raised my glass and drained it.
"You're just hiding from reality", Becker said.
"Why not?"
"You'll never be a writer if you hide from reality."
"What are you talking about? That's what writers do!"