Quotes About Cigar

There was a time when villains were stylized as very fashionable with gelled hair, girls in arms and cigar in mouth but now films have come closer to the reality. Realism has entered our industry.

He found his cigar smoldering in an ashtray on the liquor cabinet and he fired it up again. The aroma gave him a sense of robust health. He smelled well-being, long life, even placid fatherhood, somewhere, in the burning leaf.

A good cigar is like a beautiful chick with a great body who also knows the American League box scores.

I had a long night, too much to drink, too much to eat, a rather nasty cigar, and I slept on the porch like a dead man until a really big cat pounced on my chest at three in the morning and scared the hell out of me. How was I to know it was his rocker?

The house was larger than it looked from the outside, and elegant, and smelled lightly of cigar smoke. A side hallway led toward what must've been two or three bedrooms. A library featured pop fiction and a big octagonal poker table with a green baize surface; the living room was cluttered with couches and chairs and small tables. An oversized television hung from one wall.

It's personal freedom, not hundred dollar bills that lights the soul's cigar.

After a truly good meal, an outstanding cigar is still the most satisfying after-dinner activity that doesn't involve two human beings.

A cigar has "...a fire at one end and a fool at the other."

We flew over to England by the same route Churchill took. It was easy. All we had to do was follow the cigar ashes.

Music. Wine. A cigar. The small luxuries of life are how we survive what the mind can't fathom." "You sound like you do a lot of thinking in your shop," Pino said, wiping the sweat from his eyes. Luigi laughed. "A lot of thinking. A lot of talking. A lot of reading. It is . . ." The joy left his voice. "It was my home.

Your father is a wise man," the cigar trader said. "Music. Wine. A cigar. The small luxuries of life are how we survive what the mind can't fathom.

I have made it a rule never to smoke more that one cigar at a time.

The widower only sighed and puffed his cigar fiercely out of the open window. Perhaps he was thinking of that far-away time—little better than five years ago, in fact; but such an age gone by to him—when he first met the woman for whom he had worn crape round his hat three days before.

As he sat in the deep embrasure of a mullioned window, talking to my lady, his mind wandered away to shady Figtree Court, and he thought of poor George Talboys smoking his solitary cigar in the room with the birds and canaries.

I fish better with a lit cigar; some people fish better with talent.

This and countless later experiences working in and around the world of "shrinks" and the mentally ill has led me to the conclusion that overinterpretation of human psychology can be inadvisable. My favorite Freud joke has him sitting in his gentlemen's club in Vienna after dinner, enjoying a cigar. A hostile colleague wanders up and says, "That's a big, fat, long cigar, Professor Freud," to which Freud replies, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Even a cigar company joined the rush to praise Steffens by naming a cigar after him and featuring his face on the box.