Quotes About Smoke

All that sadness. All that anger. It is the smoke that gets into your eyes. If you do not blow it away, how can you hope to see?

I was mad-keen on poker as a kid. It was like the snooker, pulling me into that same smokey atmosphere I loved.

oh god it's wonderful to get out of bed and drink too much coffee and smoke too many cigarettes and love you so much

The smoke from Mr Green's cigar, a present from Pollunder, of a thickness that his father would occasionally affirm existed, but had probably never witnessed with his own eyes, spread throughout the room, and carried Green's influence into nooks and corners in which he would personally never set foot.

There's a word for it," she told me, "in French, for when you have a lingering impression of something having passed by. Sillage. I always think of it when a firework explodes and lights up the smoke from the ones before it.

There's a word for it," she told me, "in French, for when you have a lingering immersion of something having passed by. Sillage. I always think of it when a firework explores and lights up the smoke from the ones before it.

There's a word for it," she told me, "in French, for when you have a lingering impression of something having passed by. Sillage. I always think of it when a firework explores and lights up the smoke from the ones before it.

Three more fireworks shot up over the freeway, contorting into purple stars as they burst against the dissipating smoke.

We look up to see if it is day or night. If stars burn cool and moon does shine, we take to smoke divine and wine. If breath of sun does belch its heat, we boil coffee and prepare to eat.

Opium: that terrible truth serum. Dark secrets guarded for a lifetime can be divulged with carefree folly after a sip of the black smoke.

So along with the whiskey and perfume and smoke, she often exuded faint undertones of hay, dust, and the fragrance of horse, which once you smell it you always miss it. Humans were meant to live with the horse.

The buffalo provided the fuel for fires that smoked their own meat.

A sense of unreality was stealing over her, a ringing in which all sound was one. Then her eyelids were knocked upright. She saw what was really happening. As the veil was torn away, as the statue of the burned stood washing in pleasant sunlight, as the master butchers parted their lips in song, smoke and ash poured out of their mouth holes like chimneys.

She just said nothing. Nothing. She let the silence between them fill the air. Unlike other people, Omakayas had noticed, silence did not make Old Tallow uncomfortable. Now the warrior lady simply stood and smoked her pipe. The smoke drifted serenely in wavering fangs from each corner of her mouth. She was thinking.

Quando fumo parece que aspiro a eternidade

then he stretched himself alongside her to smoke a cigarette with all the ceremony of an opium dreamer.

At school, I couldn't help but grin. At home, something ripped under my skin when I smiled, trying to pretend that everything was fine. Deadly moods lurked in a purple-white haze, smoke clinging to the curtains, turning stale overnight.

Whenever there's smoke and the leftist media aren't calling 911, that means there's a huge fire raging out of control somewhere. But

All comes at last to feeling; Name is but sound and smoke, Beclouding Heaven's warm glow.

Feeling is everything, name is but sound and smoke that damp celestial ardor.

Tis feeling all; Name is but sound and smoke Shrouding the glow of heaven.

Dafür! Gefühl ist alles; Name ist Schall und Rauch, Umnebelnd Himmelsglut.

I sniff a fire burning without outlet, consuming acrid its own smoke. It's me.

It's the air force. They would have come through here and bombed the shit out of the place. That's what you smell. Toasted Nazis. Mmmmmh. Crispy.