Best 125 quotes in «cigarette quotes» category

They should give until it hurts, maybe a very small thing, maybe just a packet of cigarettes, but instead of by smoking that one packet, maybe I share that packet with somebody who has not got even one cigarette, and that's the beginning of love, to give until it hurts.

The word "souvenir" has, of course, slightly extended itself in meaning until it now denotes almost anything either breakable or useless; but even today, ninety per cent of the items covered by the word are forgettable objects in which cigarettes can be left to go stale.

Unless I specifically inform you otherwise, I'm always smoking another cigarette.

we sat there smoking cigarettes at 5 in the morning.

When I couldn't get ahold of cigarettes, I'd roll coffee grounds into typing paper and smoke that and then vomit.

Three cigarettes in, your body already craves it. It is that addictive.

We all deal with a certain amount of stress, on a day-to-day basis. I probably smoke too many cigarettes, which isn't a very good thing. I don't have any extraordinary coping mechanism. I certainly don't talk to a dog.

We have too many preacherettes preaching too many sermonettes to too many Christianettes smoking cigarettes.

When you're not smoking anymore, you don't have to carry around a pack of cigarettes, a lighter - all this paraphernalia. So you're liberated in a certain sense. It's the same with drinking.

When good Americans die, they go to Paris,' the ghost said, after taking a drag on a small cigarette. But you’re not dead. I suppose the question must be, are you good?

When I was in seventh grade my mom caught me smoking cigarettes and punished me by making me smoke the entire carton. All it did was piss me off because I was out of cigarettes.

Why could you smoke all of those cigarettes? It’s not like they are making you better… they are killing you. It seemed real idiotic to me.

With my wife I get no respect. I fell asleep with a cigarette in my hand. She lit it.

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism

You can quit smoking, and never have to have a cigarette again to survive. But with food, it is a daily challenge.

You can't even smoke a cigarette on network television anymore. Not that everyone should be smoking cigarettes, but that's how crazy it's gotten. You can't even do things like that that are real-life things.

Without cigarettes, I would be doing heroin, probably, on a daily basis.

You know I've got a chum, a smashing mate, he's got a dog with no legs, and he calls it a cigarette. It's true, yeah, because at nighttime he has to take it out for a drag.

You know, it's cigarettes that killed Jerry Garcia. Everyone thinks it's heroin, but it wasn't. It was cigarettes.

When you're waiting for a bus, the thing to do is smoke a cigarette.

You never run into a fundamentalist Christian as intolerant of - take anything, you know, homosexuality as a liberal who has just found a lit cigarette in a nonsmoking section.

5.57am and I’m finishing the last poem to the taste of the last cigarette. Smoke in my lungs, poetry on the paper. Inhale, exhale, it doesn’t get much easier.

About Hollywood. I feel like it’s a big ocean, full of bottom feeders, midlevel fish, the occasional shark, and some wonderful savvy whales, the elders, and the ones who guide you on your way. If you’re lucky enough, you get to be a dolphin and have your waves broken by the passage of these elders before you, but at the same time, you get an occasional shark bite in the tail and maybe one of the bottom feeders comes up and takes a little nibble. But I see myself as cresting a series of waves, dipping down, sometimes, lower than I’d like, but mainly kind of happily staying above. (smiles and takes a long drag of her cigarette) And, of course, I try to avoid the fishnets.

Cigarette kisses the flame. But the mouth kisses the woman. (Cigarette embrasse la flamme. - Mais la bouche embrasse la femme.)

If I can’t be your love, then let me be a simple brooch so I may rest a while against your chest. If I can’t be your love, then let me be a forgotten coin so I may rest a while against your thigh. If I can’t be your love, then let me be an unlit cigarette so I may rest a while in between your lips. If I can’t be your love, then let me at least remain in these words so I may rest a while in your thoughts.

Bosco's hand stabs forward, flicking his mostly-finished cigarette. It twirls through the air like a Molotov cocktail, barely missing me, but after striking the tin-clad door, sparks explode in all directions.

He’s completely blown through his younger years like his childhood was one big cigarette to smoke carelessly.

I nearly said something, but then thought better of it. It doesn’t pay to publicly point out the failings of the person providing your paycheck.

Maybe a holiday miracle will change Mearth’s awful behavior,” Mandy suggested with optimism. “The only holiday miracle around here is that Mearth hasn’t murdered us both yet,” said Alecto, lighting another cigarette, his hands shaking erratically. He looked exhausted and terrified, his gray eyes soulless. “Do you know what Mearth likes, Alecto?” Mandy questioned. “Vegetables, she likes celery a lot, and lettuce,” Alecto responded in a quiet monotone. “I don’t know what else she likes. I’ve never asked her.” “Well, she has to like something… doesn’t everyone?” “Not her, Mandy Valems.

In the European societies, girls are just as like a cigarette in various beautiful brands. Buy it, smoke it and do it in the ashtray.

I think one can tell a lot about a person from the way he chooses to let the stub of his cigarette burn out...

I tucked the Camel coupon from his cigarette pack into my pocket. A souvenir of the moment where he said maybe. I would hold on to his maybe for as long as it would take, even forever.

He asked me for a light to light his cigarette, and by reason of unaware, it is he that really gave light to me, made me realize how much alike we all are, breathing the same air, beating the same red blood, separated through some fortune and shame in the way of humanity.

...I remember the oily smoke of a cigarette suspended in a shaft of sunlight - with you, everything was beautiful...

Saimun pondered. How come that when something is difficult to get or you don’t have it, and you just get a chance to taste it for a moment, a small matter can become so big, doubling, trebling, growing ever larger? This morning one kretek cigarette dominated his whole soul. As if his life depended on one cigarette and if he could get that cigarette his life would be prolonged, as it were, for ever. One cigarette could fulfill his existence.

People who smoke would have probably been regarded as fools or insane, if only a percentage of people who smoke smoked.

She blew more smoke toward me, a lazy game of cancer catch.

I’ve seen how cigarettes went from being advertised in every type of media to being something found to be deadly… they can’t kill me no matter how many of them I smoke but I’ve seen humans die from smoking them… if I were you I would stop smoking them.” “Why should I? You smoke ‘em all the time, you chain-smoke cigarettes,” Mandy pointed out. “Yeah, I started doing that back in the Sixties… for reasons you likely saw on those VHS tapes… but I’m not a person, I’m Pollution, things like that aren’t dangerous to me but they are to you,” Alecto told her. “It’s not a good idea.

One of my hobbies is discovering Universal laws. Here's one: if you light a cigarette, the bus always comes immediately. I have tested this theory many years, its a golden rule. If you light the cigarette, the bus ALWAYS comes.

She gave me the dog-eye and moved slightly back. “Are you concerned about your weight, Fat Jimmy?” I took a long drag on my cigarette. “Not at all. My doctor says I’ve got another two stone to go before I’m morbidly obese.” Fat Jimmy from "Fat Jimmy and the Blind Ballerina" due out Jan 2017

She’s finished her cigarette but hasn’t put it out properly, so it’s still smoking in the ashtray. I crush mine into it, grinding until both stop burning.

She shakily rushed towards the car to find Alecto casually standing beside it, smoking a cigarette and staring fixedly on the radio as it played the song 'Draggin’ the Line' by Tommy James, his expression thoughtful. “What are you thinking about?” Mandy questioned. “Wouldn’t the world be a very loud place to live if we said everything we thought?” Alecto asked quietly.

Sigara zilizidi kuvutwa, ndani ya nyumba, na magaidi wale wawili, wakati Murphy akisinzia kudanganyia kama kweli nguvu zilishamwisha. Alimfikiria tena mpenzi wake Sophia, safari hii sana. Alimkumbuka Debbie; hakujua alikuwa wapi na hakujua mama yake angefanya nini kama Debbie angekufa, na Murphy ndiye aliyetoka naye. Debbie alimuuma zaidi. Alimkataza kufa kwa ajili ya mchumba wake. Sasa alikufa kwa ajili ya mtu ambaye hakumjua. Murphy alijilaumu kumtongoza na kumchukua kwao na kulala naye na kula chakula chake cha kifalme. Wazazi wake wangejisikiaje kama angekufa, tena katika mazingira ya kutatanisha kama yale. Kufa alijua angekufa; lakini Mungu angemsaidia, awaage watu wake.

Smokers always waxed poetic about the ritual of it, how a large part of the satisfaction was packing the box and pulling the foil wrapper and plucking an aromatic stick. They claimed they loved the lighting, the ashing, the feeling of being able to hold something between their fingers. That was all well and good, but there was nothing quite like actually smoking it: Leigh loved inhaling. To pull with your lips on that filter and feel the smoke drift across your tongue, down your throat, and directly into your lungs was to be transported momentarily to nirvana. She remembered- every day- how it felt after the first inhale, just as the nicotine was hitting her bloodstream. A few seconds of both tranquility and alertness, together, in exactly the right amounts. Then the slow exhale- forceful enough so that the smoke didn't merely seep from your mouth but not so energetic that it disrupted the moment- would complete the blissful experience.

Sometimes a cigar is just a smoke and a coincidence is just a coincidence.

The morning cigarette is like the paradise of heaven. Looks like dragging; I'm sitting in heaven.

Things such as cigarettes give conformity the ability to cause cancer.

This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. For as there are billions of different stars that make up the sky so, too, are there billions of different humans that make up the Earth. Some shine brighter but all are made of the same cosmic dust. O the joy of being in life with all these people! I speak of differences because they are there. Like the different organs that make up our bodies. Earth, itself, is one large body. Listen to how it howls when one human is in misery. When one kills another, the Earth feels the pang in its chest. When one orgasms, the Earth craves a cigarette. Look carefully, these animals are beauty spots that make the Earth’s face lovelier and more loveable. These oceans are the Earth’s limpid eyes. These trees, its hair. This is an ode to life. The anthem of the world. I will no longer speak of differences, for the similarities are larger. Look even closer. There may be distances between our limbs but there are no spaces between our hearts. We long to be one. We long to be in nature and to run wild with its wildlife. Let us celebrate life and living, for it is sacrilegious to be ungrateful. Let us play and be playful, for it is sacrilegious to be serious. Let us celebrate imperfections and make existence proud of us, for tomorrow is death, and this is an ode to life. The anthem of the world.

Ujanja wote ulimwisha Murphy. Ilimbidi kutoboa siri ili adui asizidi kumuumiza. Alilaumu mno kufa wakati alishakula ng’ombe mzima. Alifikiri Mogens na Yehuda walishauwawa kulingana na hasira nyingi za magaidi. Walihakikisha hawafanyi makosa hata kidogo. Alivyomaliza kumhoji, yule adui alizunguka nyuma katika mgongo wa Murphy na kwenda katika dirisha lililokuwa wazi – la mashariki – ambapo aliegemea na kuvuta sigara. Alichungulia kidogo nje kisha akageuka na kuendelea kupata upepo mdogo wa baridi.

When I was young” … “Before I was twenty, I mean, I used to think that life was a thing that kept gaining impetus, it would get richer and deeper each year. You kept learning more, getting wiser, having more insight, going further into the truth” – she hesitated. Port laughed abruptly. – “And now you know it’s not like that. Right? It’s more like smoking a cigarette. The first few puffs it tasted wonderful, and you don’t even think of its ever being used up. Then you begin taking it for granted. Suddenly you realize it’s nearly burned down to the end. And then’s when you’re conscious of the bitter taste.