Quotes About Cigarette

I parked my distinctive Cadillac—I say distinctive not because it's beautiful but because it's a '41 convertible painted a God-awful yellow—across the street from the Spartan Apartment Hotel. I smoked a cigarette while I worried, then flipped the butt carelessly in the general direction of the well-kept grounds of the Wilshire Country Club. That's how mean I felt.

I knew you were a badass," continued Adrian. "But I didn't realize just how much until I saw you dropping guardians out there." "Does that mean you're going to be nicer to me?" I teased. "I'm already nice to you," he said loftily. "Do you know how badly I want a cigarette right now? But no. I manfully suffer through nicotine withdrawal—all for you.

Destroying the painting was out of the question: my soul is all stained and shagged with sin like a cigarette smoker's moustache but I am quite incapable of destroying works of art. Steal them, yes, cheerfully, it is a mark of respect and love, but destroy them, never.

Be warned, therefore, that one does not go to hell to light a cigarette.

In some cities, you can find smoked cigarette butts in sparrow nests, which effectively function as a parasite repellent. Butts from smoked cigarettes retain large amounts of nicotine and other toxic substances, including traces of pesticides that repel all kinds of harmful creepy crawlies—an apparently ingenious new use of materials.

The need for personal glory is like cigarette addiction: a habit that feels life-sustaining even as it kills you.

That goddamn Louis, you see what he done? Put his cigarette butt in here. I'm gonna punch him right in his smokin' mouth." Max turned back to the form, glades mutual casualty printed across the top. He said, "I know how you feel. But when you hit an ex-con who's done three falls, they say you better kill him.

My dad is dead. And as I type this, by the window, on the rainy day, I am alive, yes. I am living. But sometimes it doesn't feel like I am doing it fast enough, or hard enough, or all the way. And it is times like that when I can understand wanting a cigarette in my hand, then my mouth, then my hand again. Holding the cigarette. Tending to the cigarette. Giving the cigarette what it needs. Tapping it in the ashtray. Sucking on it. Then flicking it in the street, like it meant nothing to me.

The inspector sat down on a stair, fired up a cigarette, and entered an immobility contest with a lizard.

He usually smoked a cigarette and sat down and introduced himself to someone and chatted—in the sweetest, calmest, most amiable way, poised, adult, and wise.

He drew in on the cigarette and let out the smoke. "Some women think they make me look sexy." "I think you smoke them so you have something to do while thinking up your next witty line." He choked on the smoke, caught between inhaling and laughing.

Hey, Adrian Edmondson," I said with compassion for the little tot, "why don't you eat my thesis and take my wallet and cigarette lighter so you can go to the pub and do some more of your drinking which you do so well although you're definitely not an alcoholic.

It was a Mexican cigarette and not so tightly packed as the brand she had smoked in the United States but in the past week or so she had gotten used to it and now liked it as well as American cigarettes.

A man has been arrested in Epsom for signalling to German planes with a lighted cigarette

The main sitting-room is large, and though certainly not dirty it is not particularly clean. … [Lewis] never bothers with ashtrays but flicks his cigarette ash … on to the carpet wherever he happens to be standing or sitting. He even absurdly maintains that ash is good for carpets.

Pamela's husband, Randolph, newly minted member of Parliament, missed the birth. He was in London, in bed with the wife of an Austrian tenor, whose monocled image appeared on cigarette trading cards.

Literature was a form of intoxication, and many nights he read and wrote in his tower room till the cigarette butts littered the ash trays -- then wandered up to Nassau Street through the darkened campus for string potatoes and milk at Joe's.

Her round, mascara-streaked face looked back at him out of the rear window. He forced a grin and a wave before lighting another cigarette, and reflecting that Lucy's idea of sympathty compared unfavourably with some of the interrogation techniques they had used at Guantanamo.

They walked fifty yards in silence, and Strike had lit up a cigarette before he said: "Very, very impressive." Robin glowed with pride.

The telephone box smelled urinous, of cigarette butts and dirt from a thousand silt-clogged soles.

Are you going to do it? he asked. Maybe, I said. Don't 'maybe' me, baby. It's written all over you. I'd almost be willing to go along, you know. Of all my relations, I like sex the best and Eric the least. I lit a cigarette, while I considered.

My mind spun for a second before it drifted, and in that second I knew that of all pleasures—a drink of cold water when you are thirsty, liquor when you are not, sex, a cigarette after many days without one—there is none of them can compare with sleep. Sleep is best. . . .

Once a Buddha, always a Buddha, Sam. Dust off some of your old parables. You have about fifteen minutes. Sam held out his hand. Give me some tobacco and a paper. He accepted the package, rolled himself a cigarette. Light? ...Thanks.

Theta blew out another plume of cigarette smoke. "Not interested. Love's messy, kiddo. Let those other girls get moony-eyed and goofy. Me? I got plans.