Best 124 quotes in «smoke quotes» category

People are crazy about food, smoking, drinking, girls but not about their dreams.

Right Here. Beside a living, breathing human being who cares for me. I can see it in the cool lagoons of his eyes, hear it in the timbre of his voice when he speaks my name. Right here. Where the warmth of his skin tempers the February cold and the thinnest beam of his inner light overcomes winter's pall. He is a candle in the wilderness. Right here. Where the omnipresent specter of death takes flight, awed by the power of the two of us, hearts beating in unison, as we stumble through the darkness toward one another.

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

Smoke and mirrors’ is a useful metaphor for the ways in which organised abuse has chided conceptualisation and understanding. The chapter provides an overview of cite often incendiary debates over organised abuse before going on to suggest that critical theories on gender, crime and intersubjectivity may offer new insights into the phenomenon.

September 11… I will never forget feeling scared and vulnerable… I will never forget feeling the deep sad loss of so many lives… I will never forget the smell of the smoke that reached across the water and delivered a deep feeling of doom into my gut… I will never forget feeling the boosted sense of unity and pride… I will never forget seeing the courageous actions of so many men and women… I will never forget seeing people of all backgrounds working together in community… I will never forget seeing what hate can destroy… I will never forget seeing what love can heal…

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

She called herself Starla, Queen of the Nile, and she had me from the first moment I saw her walk onto that stage. She wore nine-inch-heels and a dress that shone in the multi-colored lighting, glimmering through the haze created by the smoke machines and cigarettes.

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 told him that he had the most beautiful voice she'd ever heard, that it sounded like whiskey and wood smoke.

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.

Smoking can kill you, he said, and I replied: sounds better than being bored to death

...something was starting to take shape, out of magic and will. Smoke and bone.

Some people Are worthy of a bullet straight to the heart because that is where cruelty evolves into evil. Some humans aren't human at all, despite how they appear. Humanity is what lives inside people, harbored beneath skin, flesh, and bone.

Sometimes the smoke from the factories and riverboats and trains would obscure the night sky entirely. But the town's industrial breath was blowing somewhere else tonight, and so the Armstrong house was bathed in starlight. Nell studied the little white specks, like glittering dust on black velvet, and she asked, "You boys ever wonder what it'd be like to be somewhere else?

Sometimes the fridge is empty. Sometimes you run out of booze. Sometimes a guy hits you for no reason. Sometimes life doesn't seem worth living. Sometimes you hate yourself. But there's never a time when you don't enjoy a smoke.

The Doktor was very vond, I mean fond of Vluffy, so he gave him a flame-proof doggie-jacket. It was dull grey, but it had a tartan pattern on it. Vluffy liked his doggie-jacket and wore it all the time. When things went ‘bang’ he could just roll over, dust himself off and quickly scamper off with the doggie jacket flapping on his back. So in short, Vluffy was a very happy little dog who spent a lot of his time hiding under furniture. But the point is that he’d had a lot of time. Much more than those who went (up in smoke) before him.

The old man had been stoking and sipping at his pipe for the last fifteen minutes as they awaited the prisoner. The smoke of his tobacco was the foulest that she, a girl raised in a house with seven brothers and a widowed father, had every been obliged to inhale. It hung in the room as thick as sheepshearing and made arabesques in the harsh slanting light from the window.

The grille of the Caddie plunged right into the middle of the bonfire, scattering smoke and flames and bones to the wind. The Cadillac finally bounced and jolted to a stop among a rain of burning human skulls. The voice of John Fogerty garbled and died. The driver's door opened and John flung himself out, clutching a sawed-off shotgun. He screamed, 'DID SOMEBODY ORDER SOME FUCKING PRISON BREAK WITH A SIDE OF SHOTGUN?

The poets say some moths will do anything out of love for a flame [...] The moth takes off again, and we both step back, because he's circling at eye level now and seems to have lost rudder control, smacking into the wall on each round. He circles lower and lower, spinning around the candle in tighter revolutions, like a soap sud over an open drain. A few times he seems to touch the flame, but dances off unhurt. Then he ignites like a ball of hair, curling into an oily puff of fumes with a hiss. The candle flame flickers and dims for a moment, then burns as bright as before. Moth Smoke Lingers.

They're brainless girls, otherwise they wouldn't be seen dead here. They're pretty, with ugly, appealing smiles and conversations we can't hear. They breathe smoke and blow it out, and words drop from their mouths and get crushed to the floor. Or they get discarded, just to glow with warmth for a moment, for someone else to tread on later.

The smell of cars' smoke as I wade through traffic overshadows the fresh fragrance of Mother Earth drenched in rain. There can be no greater testimony to man's progress

The tobacco control movement provides a good model for how to achieve massive societal changes. In 1965, over 50 percent of men and 34 percent of women smoked. By 2010, only 23.5 percent of men and 17.9 percent of women were smoking (CDC 2011). These numbers represent one of the twentieth century’s most important public health achievements.

The smell of smoke lingered in the air, indicating something had burned. There was also a hint of barbecue meat combined with rotten meat.

They were the kinds of stories told in smoke-filled rooms over expensive Cuban cigars.

Aficionado my ass...I just love to smoke cigars

Used to be a hobo right smart. back in the thirties. They wasnt no work I dont care what you could do. I was ridin through the mountains one night, state of Colorado. Dead of winter it was and bitter cold. I had just a smidgin of tobacco, bout enough for one or two smokes. I was in one of them old slatsided cars and I'd been up and down in it like a dog tryin to find some place where the wind wouldnt blow. Directly I scrunched up in a corner and rolled me a smoke and lit it and thowed the match down. Well, they was some sort of stuff in the floor about like tinder and it caught fire. I jumped up and stomped on it and it aint done nothin but burn faster. Wasnt two minutes the whole car was afire. I run to the door and got it open and we was goin up this grade through the mountains in the snow with the moon on it and it was just blue looking and dead quiet out there and them big old black pine trees going by. I jumped for it and lit in a snowbank and what I'm goin to tell you you'll think peculiar but it's the god's truth. That was in nineteen and thirty one and if I live to be a hunnerd year old I dont think I'll ever see anything as pretty as that train on fire goin up that mountain and around the bend and them flames lightin up the snow and the trees and the night.

Where there is a smoke, there is an ecologist.

Wild Fremen said it well: "Four things cannot be hidden -- love, smoke, a pillar of fire and a man striding across the open bled.

You burn like hell, pure red and stormy and I fly like smoke, pure black and gloomy.

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call earth.

All I want to do is yoga and hike, and smoke weed. It's funny.

Blackberry Smoke is my favorite band!

A smoke in times of rest is a great companion to the solitary soldier.

A studio is a good place to smoke your pipe.

Blackberry Smoke is the real deal!

Blackberry Smoke is a band that will never go hungry.

As they croak, I see myself in the pistol smoke.

Crack is cheap. I make too much money to ever smoke crack. Let's get that straight. OK? We don't do crack. We don't do that. Crack is whack.

Food is my thing, I do not smoke or drink, so food is my vice.

Even if one doesn't smoke pot, one has to see the benefits of decriminalizing it.

I did smoke a joint once but I did not enjoy it.

Her nightmare clung to her like the smell of smoke to cloth.

Hey, ay, ay, ay...smoke weed everyday.

I actually don't smoke weed, but I've played a lot of stoners - especially with Seth Rogen.

Be drug-free and smoke some crack.

Hey-hey-hey-hey! Smoke weed every day!

I don't drink, I don't smoke and I don't party.

I don't smoke and I don't drink alcohol.

I don't smoke much pot anymore.

I don't smoke often, maybe once or twice a month, but it makes me feel sexy and romantic.