To inspire himself, he lit up a marijuana cigarette, excellent Land-O-Smiles brand.

I like cigarettes, Miss Taggart. I like to think of fire held in a man's hand. Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke a cigarette thinking. I wonder what great things have come from those hours. When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind - and it is only proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.

Time takes a cigarette…

"I was walking through Central Park, and I saw an old man smoking. Nothing makes a smoker happier than to see an old person smoking. This guy was <i>ancient</i>, bent over a walker, puffing away. I'm like, "Duuude, you're my hero! Guy your age smoking, man, it's great." He goes, "What? I'm 28.

Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.

something that he wants to do. And when I answer his peremptory scratch at the door and hold the door open for him to walk through, he stops in the middle and lights a cigarette, just to hold me up.

We’ll meet you on some corner. I’ll be the man smoking two cigarettes.

As for me, I sealed my act of rebellion against my mother’s dictatorship by smoking the cigarette I’d stolen from my uncle two weeks earlier. Kofff! Kofff! Kofff!!! It was awful. But this was not the moment to give in. With this first cigarette, I kissed childhood goodbye. Now I was a grown-up.

As I turned over the last page, a wave of sorrow enveloped me. Where had they all gone, these people who had seemed so real? To distract myself, I walked out into the night; instinctively, I lit a cigarette. In the dark, the cigarette glowed, like a fire lit by a survivor. But who would see this light, this small dot among infinite stars? I stood awhile in the dark, the cigarette glowing and growing small, each breath patiently destroying me. How small it was, how brief. Brief, brief, but inside me now, which the stars could never be.

The living room was still dark, because of the heavy growth of the shrubbery the owner had allowed to mask the windows. I put a lamp on and mooched a cigarette. I lit it. I stared down at him. I rumpled my hair which was already rumpled. I put the old tired grin on my face.

You remind me of a smoked cigarette.

With this first cigarette, I kissed childhood goodbye. Now I was a grown-up.

SIR CHARLES. [Hastily] You smoke, Mr. MALISE? MALISE. Too much. SIR CHARLES. Ah! Must smoke when you think a lot. MALISE. Or think when you smoke a lot. SIR CHARLES. [Genially] Don't know that I find that. LADY DEDMOND. [With her clear look at him] Charles!

I love my cigar too, but I take it out of my mouth once in a while.