Quotes About Addiction

Tennis is an addiction that once it has truly hooked a man will not let him go.

It's not your instincts that are the problem. It's your tendency to drown them in a bottle.

The smartest thing about most people is their phone.

Looking back, I think I really was at least slightly out of my mind. I viewed narcotics as most people regard food. I wore my guns as today I wear my neckties. Deep down, I actually believed that after living as fully as humanly possible, one should then die violently. I expected then, as I still expect today, to die at any time. But then, I think I deliberately invited death in many, sometimes insane, ways.

Every addict takes junk to escape something, the Muslim explains. He explains that most black junkies really are trying to narcotize themselves against being a black man in the white man's America. But, actually, the Muslim says, the black man taking dope is only helping the white man to prove that the black man is nothing.

In several of the apartments the women tenants were prostitutes. The minority were in some other racket or hustle—boosters, numbers runners, or dope-peddlers—and I'd guess that everyone who lived in the house used dope of some kind. This shouldn't reflect too badly on that particular building, because almost everyone in Harlem needed some kind of hustle to survive, and needed to stay high in some way to forget what they had to do to survive.

Years ago, a drug addict said something very profound to me. He said I didn't understand about addiction. His life was only about one thing: getting drugs. It simplified his life in that all the other things people have to think about, worry about, and deal with—he didn't. His life wasn't easy, but it was simple, cut down to what he could cope with. You will find this same attitude in people who try to reduce life to only one thing. This includes being obsessed about danger.

Humanity's universal sin is far, far worse than those traditional vice lists cited for Greeks and Jews by Paul in Romans 1–3. It is this: we have accepted violence as civilization's drug of choice, and our addiction now threatens creation itself.

We love each other, that's true whatever it means, but we aren't good at it; for some it's a talent, for others only an addiction.

But hatred and viciousness are addictive. You can get high on them. Once you've had a little, you start shaking if you don't get more.

When you can't tell the difference between your own pleasure and your pain then you're an addict.

I, too, was once like you: fatally hooked on life.

Even sex was no longer what it had once been, though he was still as addicted to it as ever. He felt jerked around by his own dick, as if the rest of him was merely an inconsequential knob that happened to be attached to one end of it. Maybe the thing would be happier if left to roam around on its own.

I should have known better than to rely on pills. You can't buy unconsciousness quite so cheaply.

If you worked out enough, maybe the man would too. Maybe you would be able to work it out together, as if the two of you were a puzzle that could be solved; otherwise, one of you, most likely the man, taking his addictive body with him and leaving you with bad withdrawal, which you could counteract by exercise. If you didn't work it out it was because one of you had the wrong attitude.

otherwise, one of you, most likely the man, would go wandering off on a trajectory of his own, taking his addictive body with him and leaving you with bad withdrawal, which you could counteract by exercise. If you didn't work it out it was because one of you had the wrong attitude. Everything that went on in your life was thought to be due to some positive or negative power emanating from inside your head.

Once in a while, though, he went on binges. He would sneak into bookstores or libraries, lurk around the racks where the little magazines were kept; sometimes he'd buy one. Dead poets were his business, living ones his vice. Much of the stuff he read was crap and he knew it; still, it gave him an odd lift. Then there would be the occasional real poem, and he would catch his breath. Nothing else could drop him through space like that, then catch him; nothing else could peel him open.

But hatred and viciousness are addictive.

Maybe you would be able to work it out together, as if the two of you were a puzzle that could be solved; otherwise, one of you, most likely the man, would go wandering off on a trajectory of his own, taking his addictive body with him and leaving you with bad withdrawal, which you could counteract by exercise.

hatred and viciousness are addictive. You can get high on them.

We need to reduce or at least limit U.S. demand for oil as quickly as possible, and we need to develop new technologies that can further help address our addiction to oil in the future.

If technology is a drug – and it does feel like a drug – then what, precisely, are the side-effects?

Give a man a fish, and he will eat for a day. Give a man Twitter, and he will forget to eat and starve to death.

The 'Net is a waste of time.