Quotes About Cigarette

I woke last night from a nightmare in which I saw a malignant society of pathological liars racked with insecurities, consumed by guilt, screaming for violence and I noticed I was sweating most profusely as I thanked the heavens above that it was only a dream before turning on the light to get a cigarette.

Dear me! Mr. Holmes, why, you are even a quicker smoker than I am myself." Holmes smiled. "I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another cigarette from the box — his fourth

His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette.

Omul ordinar este preocupat sa-si omoare timpul, omul de spirit va sti intotdeauna cum sa si-l intrebuinteze. De aceea, jocul de carti a ajuns ocupatia predilecta in orice societate. Neavind idei de schimbat, oamenii schimba cartea la masa si-si cistiga banii unii altora. Cei care nu stiu nici atit, sau sint de-a dreptul prosti, bat darabana cu degetele-n masa. Tigarea inlocuieste, de asemenea, gindirea, atunci cind nu are ce stimula.

The air is so clean out here, so fresh. Reminds me of when I was a little girl in Georgia. Then she took More from her pack and lit it.

I like to think of fire held in a man's hand. Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. I wonder what great things have come from such hours. When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind--and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.

When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind - and it's roper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.

He even let me smoke a cigarette in his office, but he urged me to quit smoking because of the health risks. He even had a pamphlet in his desk that he gave me. I now use it as a bookmark.

Bob says that when you're alone, and you light a cigarette, and the cigarette is only half way lit that means someone is thinking about you. He also says that when you find a penny, it's only lucky if it's heads-up. He says the best thing to do is find a lucky penny when you're with someone and give the other person goodluck ".

Like a Frenchman, far from home, catching a whiff of Gauloise.

She's looking at him with something like wonder. "Why do you weep, Jack?" "The past," he says. "Isn't that always what does it?" And thinks of his mother, sitting by the window, smoking a cigarette, and listening while the radio plays "Crazy Arms." Yes, it's always the past. That's where the hurt is, all you can't get over.

So, what, you got cigarette burns, too?" Gitanes said. Chip showed his palm, "It's nothing." "Self-inflicted. You pathetic American." "Different kind of prison" Chip said.

As Gelbart told me about four months before he passed away, "William S. Paley said television was the best cigarette vending machine that anybody ever thought of, and that's still pretty much what it is. I'd just like to see it grow up, and really be the best thing it can be."7

Tatsächlich waren Aschenbecher auf Flugzeugtoiletten vorgeschrieben. Für den Fall, dass ein Passagier, der das Rauchverbot missachtete, wenigstens keinen Brand auslöste, weil er die Kippe mangels Aschenbecher im Papierabfall entsorgte.

When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind—and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.

She had driven far down the winding road, and the lights of the diner were long since out of sight, when she noticed that she was enjoying the taste of the cigarette he had given her: it was different from any she had ever smoked before. She held the small remnant to the light of the dashboard, looking for the name of the brand. There was no name, only a trademark. Stamped in gold on the thin, white paper there stood the sign of the dollar.

Right there in the middle of the road he took the cigarette out of my mouth and put it in his, then struck a match on his thumbnail and lit the two of them together, exactly like Humphrey Bogart. Then, ever so gently, he put the lit cigarette back in my lips. It seemed almost like we had kissed. Chills ran down my back, but I couldn't tell for sure if it was thrill chills or the creeps. Sometimes it is very hard to know the difference.

suffering in the midst of the vast city from solitude so acute that not even the narcotic of late-night television talk shows could distract them from occasional nocturnal forays in search of signs of other life; even other furita, on their way back to their parents' houses, which, to make their meager ends meet, they still inhabited, who might share a tired cigarette and an unfunny joke before sleeping off the morning, then rising to do it all over again later that day.

Something about glamour interested me. All my schoolbooks had drawings of women on terraces with a cocktail and a cigarette.

Lorraine fiddled with the unlit cigarette. The moms went back to their inane chatter, though with less enthusiasm. They constantly sneaked glances at Lorraine, as if she were some virus introduced into their suburban life-form with a mission to destroy it.

Since it would take a few minutes to set up, Myron took some unnecessary turns. Two minutes later, Myron took the right on Pleasant Valley Way. Up ahead, he saw Zorra standing by the pizzeria. She wore her '30s blond wig and smoked a cigarette in a holder and looked just like Veronica Lake after a real bad bender, if Veronica Lake was six feet tall and had a Homer Simpson five o'clock shadow and was really, really ugly. Zorra

Myron put the phone back in his pocket and crossed the path. Dog Collar had his hands jammed into his pants pockets as though he was searching for something that had pissed him off. His shoulders were hunched. He had a tattoo on his neck—Myron couldn't tell what it was—and he was pulling on his cigarette as though he meant to finish it with one inhale. "Hey

V?ve mai i le f?le, my mother said vehemently. Hurry home. She took a drag from a cigarette and walked towards the sewing machine. Her workplace and altar of worship. Before she sat down, she picked up a pair of scissors and pointed them towards me. Ma fa`ap?ku i luga l? g? ulu. K?o ia, fa`akogu so`o. And how many times do I need to tell you to wrap your hair up in a bun before you leave this house? I could just bake you in an oven!

In older Hollywood movies, a character will make an entrance, close a door, light a cigarette, sit down, have a drink. In Jean-Luc's movies, you were doing everything at once, and sometimes you wouldn't shut the door all the way.