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Smoking Quotes

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Smoking Quotes

“I have some way-down vibrating part of my subconscious that needs to self-destruct, at least a little bit. … The pleasure of smoking for me wasn’t about a buzz; the pleasure came from the jolt of giving in to an unhealthy physical craving, which over time increased my phical cravings, which in turn increased the pleasure of giving in to them.”

“المصريون يعيشون في خديعة نفس مزمنة .. البنات يلبسن شيئا ضيقا فاضحا متظاهرات بأنه حجاب و أنهن شديدات الإيمان .. والأولاد يلبسون بدلة تدريب يطلقون عليها ترينك متظاهرون بأنهم رياضيون .. وهم أهلكهم التدخين والبانجو”

“It's so weird the way people started smoking again," said Sailor. "You might not know this, but everyone stopped smoking for years and years. And then, boom." "What's your theory?" Again, I knew she'd have one. We loved our theories. "My theory is people decided everything else was fucked, so it didn't even matter anymore. They might as well kill themselves in the manner of their own choosing.”

“My dad is dead. And as I type this, by the window, on the rainy day, I am alive, yes. I am living. But sometimes it doesn't feel like I am doing it fast enough, or hard enough, or all the way. And it is times like that when I can understand wanting a cigarette in my hand, then my mouth, then my hand again. Holding the cigarette. Tending to the cigarette. Giving the cigarette what it needs. Tapping it in the ashtray. Sucking on it. Then flicking it in the street, like it meant nothing to me.”

“দেখে তাকে চেনাই যায়না।দাড়ি গোঁফের জঙ্গল।চোখ টকটকে লাল।চামড়া ঝুলে এসেছে।শরীরে একটা অশরীরী বার্ধক্য চলে এসেছে।এই বার্ধক্য বয়সের বার্ধক্য নয়,এই বার্ধক্য আজরাইলকে লোভে ফেলার জন্য জোর করে ডেকে আনা বার্ধক্য।”

“We were young, she continued, while she had a bad heart. Did we not want to earn our tips, she asked us and, cowed, we refrained from introducing the subject again. Her bad heart, I noticed, did not force her to abstain from smoking, or from eating large portions of puddings. Every time I heard her opening how she could not carry anything heavy, I thought sourly "except yourself".”

“I realised something else at that point, I used smokes to avoid talking about emotional things, “Just nipping for a smoke” when someone started talking about something I didn't want to talk about. “Just off for a fag, back in a minute” when someone came in that I didn't like. I was using it as a crutch to get out of speaking my mind and I'd never been shy of speaking my mind. What else had I used smoking to cover up? I realised in that moment that smoking was not my friend, it was my enemy disguised as my friend. It was the ultimate head fuck. It made me feel great whilst it was screwing me but it was screwing me.”

“Until the beginning of 2003, Italians smoked everywhere and considered it quite normal; they lit up inside stores, including those which sell fabric or paper goods, in the airport, ignoring repeated loudspeaker announcements that no smoking was allowed, at the greengrocers where cigarette ash dangled perilously over the zucchini and the cherry tomatoes, and even in hospitals, although from time to time crack Italian Carabinieri units called the NAS, set up to enforce health standards, would appear, unannounced, and hand out hefty fines to all the doctors and nurses they found in flagrante. Once I even had blood taken by two white-coated doctors who took my vital fluid with cigarettes dangling from their lips, an open window their only concession to my passive smoke concerns.”

“What is this thing you call substance abuse? All I wanna do is forget and get loose. Drinking and smoking over and over What's so great about a life that's sober? There's nothing cool about being young When the monsters of night have stolen the sun. I'm tired of searching for words in the sky. All I wanna do is drink and die. Nothing is real. It's all a big lie. All I wanna do is drink and die. There's nothing cool about being young When the monsters of night have stolen the sun.”

“I’ve warned him about the dangers of smoking and second-hand smoke. He always looks off in the distance, as if giving my warnings serious thought, then returns to his paper. I reconcile it all by thinking of him as an incense burner. I do like the smell of pipe tobacco . . . may Al Gore forgive me.”