First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the

When F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you,” he spoke not merely of wine or spirits, but of the eternal struggle between pleasure and destruction, between choice and enslavement. His words capture the deceptive path of addiction, where what begins as a small indulgence becomes a chain around the soul. The first drink is voluntary, the second begins to dull the edge of will, and soon the cup holds mastery over the one who first held it. This is the truth he unveils: that excess transforms freedom into bondage.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Fitzgerald’s own life, for he was a man who knew both the glamour and the ruin of drink. Author of The Great Gatsby, he lived among the glittering lights of the Jazz Age, surrounded by parties, music, and revelry. Yet beneath the shimmer lay despair. Alcohol, which had seemed a companion to creativity and celebration, became for him a destroyer of health, relationships, and peace. His words were not theoretical—they were carved from his own wounds, a testimony written in the language of lived suffering.

History is filled with similar tales. Consider Alexander the Great, who conquered nations yet was often conquered by the cup. His feasts were infamous, and in his drunken rage he once killed Cleitus, his loyal friend and officer. The conqueror of empires could not conquer his own thirst. Or recall the fall of Rome, where indulgence and luxury, fed by wine and excess, weakened the moral fiber of a once-great civilization. Fitzgerald’s words echo across centuries: when indulgence becomes master, strength becomes ruin.

Yet his teaching is not condemnation alone—it is also a call to vigilance. The path begins subtly, with a single indulgence, harmless in appearance. But what is harmless in one measure becomes harmful in ten. Fitzgerald paints the image of a slow descent: at first you take the drink, exercising choice; then the drink takes another, diminishing your will; finally, the drink takes you, seizing your freedom, your dignity, and your future. His words warn us of the progression of enslavement that grows unnoticed until it is too late.

The deeper meaning of this quote extends beyond alcohol. It speaks to all forms of temptation and desire that, when unchecked, can claim mastery over a person. Greed, lust, envy, pride—all begin as small indulgences, chosen by the hand. But if fed, they grow into masters, devouring the very soul of the one who first entertained them. Fitzgerald’s wisdom, though born of his battle with drink, is truly about the dangers of losing sovereignty over one’s life.

The lesson for us is clear: guard your freedom with vigilance. Do not let momentary pleasure blind you to its long-term chain. Recognize that mastery over self is more glorious than mastery over others, and that one who resists enslavement to desire walks in true strength. The ancients called this temperance, a virtue not of denial but of balance, where enjoyment is embraced without allowing it to consume the soul.

Practical action must follow this truth. When you partake in life’s pleasures, do so with mindfulness. Ask yourself: am I holding this, or is this holding me? Be willing to set limits, to step away, to reclaim mastery. Celebrate joy without surrendering freedom. And if you find yourself already in chains, remember that recognition is the first step to liberation, and that courage can rebuild even the most broken of lives.

Thus let Fitzgerald’s words be passed down as a warning and a guide: indulgence begins as a servant but can end as a tyrant. Take care, children of tomorrow, to guard your will, for in preserving mastery over yourself you preserve your honor, your freedom, and your destiny.