If you think your “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee” mug is a personality trait, please meet Honoré de Balzac.
The French novelist wrote 90 novels and plays in his life. He worked for 15 hours straight, often waking up at midnight and writing until the following afternoon. How did he fuel this inhuman output?
Coffee. But not the weak latte you drink. Balzac drank a sludge that was basically rocket fuel.
He reportedly consumed 50 cups of coffee a day. And when the liquid stopped working, he would eat the coffee grounds dry. He described the feeling in terrifying detail: “Ideas quicken their march like battalions of the Grand Army… memories charge in with flags flying… the paper is covered with ink.”
He treated his stomach like a coal furnace. He believed the coffee had to be boiled with as little water as possible until it became a thick, black syrup. He wrote an entire essay titled “The Pleasures and Pains of Coffee,” in which he essentially admitted he was poisoning himself for art.
It worked, in a way. He produced masterpieces. It also destroyed him. He died at age 51, his heart finally exploding from decades of caffeine abuse. His final words should have been: “One more espresso, please.”

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