Quotes About Smoke

Yet we flatter our strength unduly when we compare it even to a reed stick! For whatever vain men devise and babble concerning these matters is but smoke. Therefore Augustine with good reason often repeats the famous statement that free will is by its defenders more trampled down than strengthened.

Wolf's wits, moving now, in spite of the fumes of smoke and alcohol, with restored clarity, achieved a momentous orientation of many obscure matters.

Cuando el sol, frente a mí, irrumpa violento, todo caerá en la sombra otra vez: en la sombra del sol –de eso el que mandó sabe–, en el humo y la niebla.

The work of a suffering and tortured God, the world then seemed to me. The dream and fiction of a god, the world then seemed to me.; coloured smoke before the eyes of a discontented god. [...] The creator wished to look away from himself; so he created the world. [...] a drunken joy to its imperfect creator.

I personally think a fight scene is the most cinematic thing you can witness because all the elements of filmmaking come together, you know, with the camera speed changes, editing, make up effects and general smoke and mirrors of trying to make it look like you are hitting someone when you're not. It's filmmaking in it's purest form, I think.

I see the world as a magical place. Therefore, it was only natural that magic wafted from my fiction like smoke.

The sun burned like a fire ship on the water, sinking slowly till only a red smoke was left trailing up the sky. A fishing boat was headed into the harbor, black and small against the enormous west. Above its glittering wake a few gulls whirled like sparks which had gone out.

frío, los pitos arromadizados, el humo de las chimeneas, el movimiento de las máquinas, las mismas ondas ventrudas de aquel mar estañado, el vapor que caminaba rumbo a la gran bahía, todo

A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.

as the sound of water in the valleys, the singing of the hill people, the smell of the pines, and the blue smoke rising from the villages, are always with you in the Himalayas.

But in the closeness of the sewing room, Simon can smell her as well as look at her. He tries to pay no attention but her scent is a distracting undercurrent. She smells like smoke; smoke, and laundry soap, and the salt from her skin; and she smells of the skin itself, with its undertone of dampness, fullness, ripeness - what? Ferns and mushrooms; fruits crushed and fermenting.

We can see through all your disguises: the paths of day, the paths of darkness, whichever paths you take - we're right behind you, following you like a trail of smoke, like a long tail, a tail made of girls, heavy as memory, light as air: twelve accusations, toes skimming the ground, hands tied behind our backs, tongues sticking out, eyes bulging, songs choked in our throats.

Scarlett permitted the embrace - because in the dark smoke- fill the kitchen, there had been born a greater respect for her sister in law, a closer feeling of comradeship.

I smoke in moderation. Only one cigar at a time.

The graphics elevator lurched upwards again. This time the new dimension is multimedia, which means adding sound and fury to the smoke and mirrors.

I was still too weak to understand his chess ideas at that time but I remember being covered in smoke.

Does sunset sometimes look like the sun is coming up? Do you know what a faithful love is like? You're crying; you say you've burned yourself. But can you think of anyone who's not hazy with smoke? —Rumi

Maybe, I thought, after a few months of sobriety, you could successfully smoke marijuana again, or maybe every anniversary you got to have one glass of a perfectly chilled California Chardonnay.

And autumn ain't so shabby for wow, either. The colors are broccoli and flame and fox fur. The tang is apples, death, and wood smoke. The rot smells faintly of grapes, of fermentation, of one element being changed alchemically into another, and the air is moist and you sleep under two down comforters in a cold room. The trails are not dusty anymore, and you get to wear your favorite sweaters.

I saw the great sparkling orbs of his eyes, the tiny red veins that reached for the dark centers, that warm hand burning my cold hunger as he guided me to a chair. And then all around me I saw faces blazing, faces rising in the smoke of the lamps, in the shimmer of the burning stove, a wonderland of colors on canvases surrounding us beneath the small, sloped roof, a blaze of beauty that pulsed and throbbed.

Your cigarette has become one long cylindrical ash.

The smells of smoke and vinegar made him hungry; all he'd had for lunch was a peanut-butter-and-raisin sandwich.

The horizon, bloody with the sunset, dulls with smoke and churned-up dirt.

There is no fire without some smoke.