Lungs Smoke Quotes

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As smoking is to the lungs, so is resentment to the soul; even one puff is bad for you.
Elizabeth Gilbert
Akhlys lunged at Percy, and for a split second he thought: Well, hey, I’m just smoke. She can’t touch me, right? He imagined the Fates up in Olympus, laughing at his wishful thinking: LOL, NOOB!
Rick Riordan (The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus, #4))
He hung up on me. I stared at the phone in disbelief, then ripped a clean sheet of paper from my notebook. I scribbled Jerk on the first line. One the line beneath it, I added, Smokes cigars. Will die of lung cancer. Hopefully soon. Excellent physical shape. I immediately scribbled over the last observation until it was illegible.
Becca Fitzpatrick (Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush, #1))
If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.” But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it. I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.
Sarah Kay
I stared at the phone in disbelief, then ripped a clean sheet of paper from my notebook. I scribbled ' Jerk ' on the first line. On the line beneath it I added, ' Smokes cigars. Will die of lung cancer. Hopefully soon.
Becca Fitzpatrick (Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush, #1))
There was a young lady named Mae Who smoked without stopping all day; As pack followed pack, Her lungs first turned black, And eventually rotted away.
Edward Gorey (Floating Worlds: The Letters of Edward Gorey & Peter F. Neumeyer)
My lungs are thick with the smoke of your absence.
Raymond Carver (Where Water Comes Together with Other Water: Poems)
I don't want children anyway,' Caz says. 'So I'm getting nothing out of this whatsoever. I want my entire reproductive system taken out, and replaced with spare lungs, for when I start smoking. I want that option. This is pointless.
Caitlin Moran (How to Be a Woman)
Miraculously, smoke curled out of his own mouth, his nose, his ears, his eyes, as if his soul had been extinguished within his lungs at the very moment the sweet pumpkin gave up its incensed ghost.
Ray Bradbury (The Halloween Tree)
You smoke?” “Smoke? Do I look like a fucking idiot?
Richard K. Morgan (Altered Carbon (Takeshi Kovacs, #1))
I still love you like moons love the planets they circle around, like children love recess bells. I still hear the sound of you and think of playgrounds where outcasts who stutter beneath braces and bruises and acne are finally learning that their rich handsome bullies are never gonna grow up to be happy. I think of happy when I think of you. So wherever you are I hope you’re happy, I really do. I hope the stars are kissing your cheeks tonight I hope you finally found a way to quit smoking I hope your lungs are open and breathing this life I hope there’s a kite in your hand that’s flying all the way up to Orion and you still got a thousand yards of string to let out. I hope you’re smiling like God is pulling at the corners of your mouth, ‘cause I might be naked and lonely shaking branches for bones but I’m still time zones away from who I was the day before we met. You were the first mile where my heart broke a sweat, and I wish you were here; I wish you’d never left; but mostly I wish you well. I wish you my very, very best
Andrea Gibson
She almost wished she smoked, so she could lie on the car’s hood, flick a lighter, and make up names for the constellations while nicotine burned her lungs.
Brigid Kemmerer (Storm (Elemental, #1))
She takes another long haul, lets the smoke settle in her lungs-- she has heard somewhere that cigarettes are good for grief. One long drag and you forget how to cry. The body too busy dealing with the poison.
Colum McCann (Let the Great World Spin)
Then let's do the interview over the phone. I've got a list of questions right-' He hung up on me. I stared at the phone in disbelief, then ripped a clean sheet of paper from my notebook. I scribbled Jerk on the first line. On the line beneath it I added, smokes cigars. Will die of lung cancer. Hopefully soon. Excellent physical shape.
Becca Fitzpatrick (Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush, #1))
I sipped the coffee and lit a cigarette. I can't say that I enjoyed the taste of coffee or the feeling of smoke descending into my lungs, I could barely distinguish the two, the point was to do it, it was a routine, and as with all routines, protocol was everything.
Karl Ove Knausgård (Min kamp 1 (Min kamp #1))
Our society does reward beauty on the outside over health on the inside. Women must not be blamed for choosing short-term beauty "fixes" that harm our long-term health, since our life spans are inverted under the beauty myth, and there is no great social or economic incentive for women to live a long time. A thin young woman with precancerous lungs [who smokes to stay thin] is more highly rewarded socially that a hearty old crone. Spokespeople sell women the Iron Maiden [an intrinsically unattainable standard of beauty used to punish women for their failure to achieve and conform to it]and name her "Health": if public discourse were really concerned with women's health, it would turn angrily upon this aspect of the beauty myth.
Naomi Wolf (The Beauty Myth)
For Jenn At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts. I fought with my knuckles white as stars, and left bruises the shape of Salem. There are things we know by heart, and things we don't. At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke. I'd watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos, but I could never make dying beautiful. The sky didn't fill with colors the night I convinced myself veins are kite strings you can only cut free. I suppose I love this life, in spite of my clenched fist. I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree, and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers, and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe. But my lungs remember the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister's heartbeat. And I knew life would tremble like the first tear on a prison guard's hardened cheek, like a prayer on a dying man's lips, like a vet holding a full bottle of whisky like an empty gun in a war zone… just take me just take me Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much, the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood. We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways, but you still have to call it a birthday. You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recess and hope she knows you can hit a baseball further than any boy in the whole third grade and I've been running for home through the windpipe of a man who sings while his hands playing washboard with a spoon on a street corner in New Orleans where every boarded up window is still painted with the words We're Coming Back like a promise to the ocean that we will always keep moving towards the music, the way Basquait slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain. Beauty, catch me on your tongue. Thunder, clap us open. The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks. Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona desert, then wake us washing the feet of pregnant women who climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun. I know a thousand things louder than a soldier's gun. I know the heartbeat of his mother. Don't cover your ears, Love. Don't cover your ears, Life. There is a boy writing poems in Central Park and as he writes he moves and his bones become the bars of Mandela's jail cell stretching apart, and there are men playing chess in the December cold who can't tell if the breath rising from the board is their opponents or their own, and there's a woman on the stairwell of the subway swearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn, and I'm remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrun with strip malls and traffic and vendors and one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it. Ya'll, I know this world is far from perfect. I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon. I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic. But every ocean has a shoreline and every shoreline has a tide that is constantly returning to wake the songbirds in our hands, to wake the music in our bones, to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river that has to run through the center of our hearts to find its way home.
Andrea Gibson
It is a mistake," he said, " to suppose that the public wants the environment protected or their lives saved and that they will be grateful to any idealist who will fight for such ends. What the public wants is their own individual comfort. We know that well enough from our experience in the environmental crisis of the twentieth century. Once it was well known that cigarettes increased the incidence of lung cancer, the obvious remedy was to stop smoking, but the desired remedy was a cigarette that did not cause cancer. When it became clear that the internal-combustion engine was polluting the atmosphere dangerously, the obvious remedy was to abandon such engines, and the desired remedy was to develop non-polluting engines.
Isaac Asimov (The Gods Themselves)
Simon Pack attempting to rescue victims in a burning building: “His lungs burned, his eyes almost unseeing from the sting of fumes and smoke. Timbers cracking, things making small explosions, the heavy roaring a fire makes, all these together overwhelmed human sounds.
John M. Vermillion (Pack's Posse (Simon Pack Book 8))
Your face, your mouth, your shoulder inconceivable to me now! Where did they go? It’s like I dreamed them. The stones we brought home from the beach lie face up on the windowsill, cooling. Come home. Do you hear? My lungs are thick with the smoke of your absence.
Raymond Carver
At school, they said if you smoke you get thick black tar in your lungs. Mr. Macdonald, it’s not good for you.” Mr. Macdonald smiled and lit his pipe. “Is that so?” He blew out a puff of smoke. “Good, that tar will keep me warm in the winter months.
Mark A. Cooper (Archie Wilson & The Beasts of Loch Ness (Volume 1))
Here I am on the shore of Brittany. Let the cities light up in the evening. My day is done. I am leaving Europe. The sea air will burn my lungs. Lost climates will tan me. I will swim, trample the grass, hung, and smoke especially. I will drink alcohol as strong as boiling metal--just as my dear ancestors did around their fires.
Arthur Rimbaud (Une saison en enfer: suivi de Illuminations et autres textes (1873-1875))
5.57am and I’m finishing the last poem to the taste of the last cigarette. Smoke in my lungs, poetry on the paper. Inhale, exhale, it doesn’t get much easier.
Charlotte Eriksson (Empty Roads & Broken Bottles: in search for The Great Perhaps)
I sucked that smoke in and made it part of me, joined mystically with the universe right at that point, said Yes to drugs forever just by the unique hit I got from that one packet of fags Andy liberated from his dad. It was a revelation, an epiphany; a sudden realisation that it was possible for matter - something there in front of you, in your hand, in your lungs, in your pocket - to take your brain apart and reassemble it in ways you hadn't thought of previously. This was better than religion, or this was what people meant by religion! The whole point was that this worked! People said Believe In God or Do Well At School or Buy This or Vote For Me or whatever, but nothing ever worked the way substances worked, nothing ever fucking delivered the way they did. They were truth. Everything else was falsehood.
Iain Banks (Complicity)
Ianthe said smoothly, “Come, Bride, and be joined with your true love. Come, Bride, and let good triumph at last.” Good. I was not good. I was nothing, and my soul, my eternal soul, was damned— I tried to get my traitorous lungs to draw air so I could voice the word. No—no. But I didn’t have to say it. Thunder cracked behind me, as if two boulders had been hurled against each other. People screamed, falling back, a few vanishing outright as darkness erupted. I whirled, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket. “Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.
Sarah J. Maas (A Court of Mist and Fury (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #2))
Childhood is a time for pretending and trying on maturity to see if it fits or hangs baggy, tastes good or bitter, smells nice or fills your lungs with smoke that makes you cough. It's sharing licks on the same sucker with your best friend before you discover germs. It's not knowing how much a house cost, and caring less. It's going to bed in the summer with dirty feet on clean sheets. It's thinking anyone over fifteen is 'ancient'. It's absorbing ideas, knowledge, and people like a giant sponge. Childhood is where 'competition' is a baseball game and 'responsibility' is a paper route.
Erma Bombeck (At Wit's End)
Wang Lung sat smoking, thinking of the silver as it had lain upon the table. It had come out of the earth, this silver, out of the earth that he ploughed and turned and spent himself upon. He took his life from the earth; drop by drop by his sweat he wrung food from it and from the food, silver. Each time before this that he had taken the silver out to give to anyone, it had been like taking a piece of his life and giving it to someone carelessly. But not for the first time, such giving was not pain. He saw, not the silver in the alien hand of a merchant in the town; he saw the silver transmuted into something worth even more than life itself - clothes upon the body of his son.
Pearl S. Buck (The Good Earth (House of Earth, #1))
The thing is, when you start smoking, you think you’ve bought a fun baby dragon. You think you’ve charmed a fabulous beast, as your toy, that will impress all that see it. And then, twenty years later, you wake up with your lungs full of cinder and shite, and the bed on fire, and you realize the dragon grew up—and burned your fucking house down.
Caitlin Moran (How to Build a Girl)
Larry and the pilot stood to one side, smoking, sharing that camaraderie of all people who are determined to blacken their lungs.
Laurell K. Hamilton (Bloody Bones (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #5))
All three of them hold the smoke in their lungs, coming a little closer, a little closer, and a little closer, until they are right in front of my face. Thomas holds up his hand, counting: one, two … On three they blow smoke in my face. I gasp. They do it four more times.
Mary Elizabeth (Innocents (Dusty, #1))
I’m burning all the time. My pockets full of matches and lighters, the blue smoke crawling out like a skinny ghost from between my lips. My lungs on fire, the wings of them falling from the open sky.
Matthew Dickman
Drenched in British purples, I have offered up my tones: pigeon breast, hind belly, balky mule lung, monkey bottom pink, lapis lazuli and malachite, excited nymph thigh, panther pee-pee, high-smelling hen hair, hedgehog in aspic, barrel-maker's brothel, revered rose, monkeybush, turkey-like white, sly violet, page's slipper, immaculate nun spring, unspeakable red, Ensor azure, affected yellow, mummy skull, rock-hard gray, brunt celadon, shop soiled smoke ring.
James Ensor (James Ensor)
I don’t want children anyway,’ Caz says. ‘So I am getting nothing out of this whatsoever. I want my entire reproductive system taken out, and replaced with spare lungs, for when I start smoking. I want that option. This is pointless.
Caitlin Moran (How to Be a Woman)
Today the link between animal products and many different diseases is as strongly supported in the scientific literature as the link between cigarette smoking and lung cancer.
Joel Fuhrman (Eat to Live: The Revolutionary Formula for Fast and Sustained Weight Loss)
Nailer smiled bitterly in the acrid wind. That was what thinking about clipper ships got you. A lungful of smoke because you weren't paying attention to what was around.
Paolo Bacigalupi (Ship Breaker (Ship Breaker, #1))
Every puff was like sucking in the abyss, yet he inhaled until his lungs filled with toxic smoke that clouded his thoughts of her.
Ahmed Mostafa
At teenage parties he was always wandering into the garden, sitting on a bench in the dark . . . staring up at the constellations and pondering all those big questions about the existence of God and the nature of evil and the mystery of death, questions which seemed more important than anything else in the would until a few years passed and some real questions had been dumped into your lap, like how to earn a living, and why people fell in and out of love, and how long you could carry on smoking and then give up without getting lung cancer.
Mark Haddon (A Spot of Bother)
You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs. Your stars have already let you come quite a long way since you left your mother’s womb and whimpered at the cold air of the world.
Ian Fleming (Live and Let Die (James Bond, #2))
The door is cracked We used to meet like water does land no not that more like when skin touches skin kissing fingertips or when air escapes a lung and is felt across the world I've leapt over cracks in sidewalks and swallowed away troublesome back pains that could only be fixed with someone else's pills We met by your house one stray day and you drove me to the bay where we sat and kissed like it was yesterday And here you told me that you loved me and that you always loved me and that you would always love me the wind blew and I held you You rested your head on my shoulder and the wind blew warm Later, in your big red truck, we smoked some green and I kissed you harder and held your breasts, and felt between your legs and with a gasp you told me you were in love with me And then you drove me back and we promised it wouldn't be the end not this time The quill and inkwell on your foot I'm a writer and you are my greatest art I returned to my hell and dreamt of you once more
Dave Matthes (Strange Rainfall on the Rooftops of People Watchers: Poems and Stories)
He sat beside the window in the dark, with his eyes closed. Hearing to the sound of the rain. The whisky in his glass burnt his throat, while the smoke of his cigarette filled his lungs and the fire inside his heart consumed his soul slowly.
Akshay Vasu
In retrospect, I came to Nagasaki for the regenerative properties. The second atomic bomb blast so many years ago, which had swept up most of the city in a plutonium cloud, had made the city radioactively peace-loving. Reversing the usual cycle that turns victim into perpetrator, the people who stepped from the rubble filled their hearts with a fervent devotion to peace in all its forms. In my mind's eye I see them: wounded and dying, their lungs filled with ash and smoke. The ash sits there for some time, and when they exhale, miraculously, something akin to love comes out.
Daniel Clausen (The Ghosts of Nagasaki)
...lung cancer incidence in men increased dramatically in the 1950s as a result of an increase in cigarette smoking during the early twentieth century. In women, a cohort that began to smoke in the 1950s, lung cancer incidence has yet to reach its peak.
Siddhartha Mukherjee (The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer)
And, sure, fine, I do check my phone about every two minutes, but so do a lot of people, and it's better than smoking, that's what I say. It's the new, lung-safe cigarette.
Aimee Bender (The Color Master: Stories)
jerk.smokes cigars.will die of lung cancer,hopefully soon.excellent physical shape.
Becca Fitzpatrick (Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush, #1))
One lung, smaller, congested with rose smoke. The other, filled with a swarm of massive sentimentia.
Lucie Brock-Broido (Stay, Illusion: Poems)
AKHLYS LUNGED AT PERCY, and for a split second he thought: Well, hey, I’m just smoke. She can’t touch me, right? He imagined the Fates up in Olympus, laughing at his wishful thinking: LOL, NOOB!
Rick Riordan (The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus, #4))
Doctor Donald Tashkin is a very good researcher at UCLA. He is a pulmonologist. His research demonstrated that the incidence of lung cancer in people who smoke cannabis was less than the incidence of lung cancer in people who smoke nothing at all.
You Are Being Lied To About Series (You Are Being Lied To About: Marijuana)
He hung up on me. I stared at the phone in disbelief, then ripped a clean sheet of paper from my notebook. I scribbled Jerk on the first line. On the line beneath it I added, Smokes cigars. Will die of lung cancer. Hopefully soon. Excellent physical shape.
Becca Fitzpatrick (Hush, Hush (Hush, Hush, #1))
I’m walking out in the rain again Pains the same as it’s always been Lungs full of smoke from my cigarette And my heart breaks with every step, But only a little bit Walking away from myself, not getting far Wondering if it’s you I see in each passing car
Eric Overby (February Rain: Lyrics of a Lonely Traveler)
Harry lit up, drew the smoke deep into his lungs and tried to imagine the blood vessels in the wall of the lung greedily absorbing the nicotine. Life was becoming shorter and the thought that he would never stop smoking filled him with a strange satisfaction.
Jo Nesbø (The Redbreast (Harry Hole, #3))
Though the majority of lung cancer is attributed to smoking, approximately a quarter of all cases occur in people who’ve never smoked.21 Although some of these cases are due to secondhand smoke, another contributing cause may be another potentially carcinogenic plume: fumes from frying.
Michael Greger (How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease)
The green of these mountains in my lungs smelled like an old friend, one who wouldn't tell lies to you. One who understood. One who knew pain didn't go away just because you wanted it to. And when I exhaled, only the sweet scent of smoke and s dry mouth remained. But the scent was enough to rekindle the memory.
Jason Jack Miller (Hellbender)
it’s weird how so many people talk to a God they don’t even believe exists. But you know what would be even weirder? If he spoke back. Like real, audible words. Just imagine it: A guy is walking down the street and he stops to light a cigarette. He accidentally burns himself and yells, ‘God, that hurt!’ And the clouds part above him and a great, booming voice says, ‘I know, son. You know what else hurts? Dying from lung cancer. This is a sign for you. Stop smoking.
Rachel Morgan (The Trouble with Flying (The Trouble, #1))
It was time for some serious thinking, and Jasper didn’t reckon he should do that on an empty lung. Empty head was one thing; lungs needed smoke to survive – so his ol’ Pap’d said.
David Niall Wilson (The DeChance Chronicles Volumes 1-4: Books I - IV)
It was a Nazi epidemiologist who first established the link between smoking and lung cancer, establishing a government agency to combat tobacco consumption in June 1939.
Richard J. Evans (The Third Reich in Power, 1933-1939)
In China, lung cancer is already a leading cause of death attributable to smoking in men.
Siddhartha Mukherjee (The Emperor of All Maladies)
At least the smoke would give me a little cover; it was also choking me, making my eyes water and my lungs ache and spasm with each breath, but you can't have everything.
Mike Carey (Vicious Circle (Felix Castor, #2))
Marijuana smoke, which users inhale and try to hold in their lungs for as long as possible, also contains 50 to 70 percent more cancer-causing chemicals than cigarette smoke contains.
Frances E. Jensen (The Teenage Brain: A Neuroscientist's Survival Guide to Raising Adolescents and Young Adults)
The fact that, for example, the link between smoking and lung cancer was first discovered by Nazi doctors (Proctor, 2000) doesn’t mean we should tell people that smoking is healthy after all.
Stuart Ritchie (Intelligence: All That Matters)
AKHLYS LUNGED AT PERCY, and for a split second he thought: Well, hey, I’m just smoke. She can’t touch me, right? He imagined the Fates up in Olympus, laughing at his wishful thinking: LOL, NOOB! The
Rick Riordan (The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus, #4))
As cool as glaucoma and lung cancer. Penny had never had a cigarette in her life, and if they did smoke together Penny would probably have a coughing fit that lasted forever and ended on an audible fart.
Mary H.K. Choi (Emergency Contact)
The problem with today’s young people’, I said, ‘isn’t that they do things which are bad for them, as so much of the media likes to think. It’s that they don’t do these things right. You’re all so intent on getting off your heads on drugs that you don’t think about the fact that you could overdose and, to put it plainly, die. You drink until your liver explodes. You smoke until your lungs collapse beneath the rot. You create diseases which threaten to wipe you out. Have fun, by all means. Be debauched, it’s your duty. But be wise about it. All things in excess, but just know how to cope with them, that’s all I ask.
John Boyne (The Thief of Time)
She says she is aware of the irony of being a medical examiner who smokes, but that for all the blackened lungs she’s seen, it is more disturbing to open the chest cavity of a veteran and find that it is pristine.
Raven Leilani (Luster)
Have you not reason then to be ashamed and to forbear this filthy novelty, so basely grounded, so foolishly received and so grossly mistaken in the right use thereof. In your abuse thereof sinning against God harming yourselves both in person and goods, and raking also thereby the marks and notes of vanity upon you by the custom thereof making yourselves to be wondered at by all foreign civil nations and by all strangers that come among you to be scorned and held in contempt; a custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black stinking fume thereof nearest resembling the horrible stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.
James VI & I
Smokers always waxed poetic about the ritual of it, how a large part of the satisfaction was packing the box and pulling the foil wrapper and plucking an aromatic stick. They claimed they loved the lighting, the ashing, the feeling of being able to hold something between their fingers. That was all well and good, but there was nothing quite like actually smoking it: Leigh loved inhaling. To pull with your lips on that filter and feel the smoke drift across your tongue, down your throat, and directly into your lungs was to be transported momentarily to nirvana. She remembered- every day- how it felt after the first inhale, just as the nicotine was hitting her bloodstream. A few seconds of both tranquility and alertness, together, in exactly the right amounts. Then the slow exhale- forceful enough so that the smoke didn't merely seep from your mouth but not so energetic that it disrupted the moment- would complete the blissful experience.
Lauren Weisberger (Chasing Harry Winston)
According to the American Lung Association, smoking tobacco contributes to up to 90 percent of all lung cancer deaths. Men who smoke are twenty-three times more likely and women thirteen times more likely to develop lung cancer than nonsmokers. And smokers aren’t just harming themselves; thousands of deaths each year have been attributed to secondhand smoke. Nonsmokers have a 20–30 percent higher risk of developing lung cancer if they’re regularly exposed to cigarette smoke.3
Michael Greger (How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease)
When similar techniques were applied in a smoking cessation study, the participants who had learned to acknowledge and explore their cravings managed to quit at double the rate of those in the American Lung Association’s best-performing cessation program.
Nir Eyal (Indistractable: How to Control Your Attention and Choose Your Life)
the British humorist Sir A. P. Herbert nicely described the conflicting set of symptoms: “Thank heaven, I have given up smoking again!” he announced. “God! I feel fit. Homicidal, but fit. A different man. Irritable, moody, depressed, rude, nervy, perhaps; but the lungs are fine.
Roy F. Baumeister (Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength)
In the event of a change in cabin pressure, the flight attendant on the video was saying, you put your oxygen mask on first, pulling the cord, and then you helped others in your party who needed your assistance. The video showed a nice-looking dad tugging the oxygen mask over his own face, his placid daughter sitting quietly beside him, breathing bad air. What kind of idiot came up with that rule? The didn't understand human nature at all. She imagined the compartment filling slowly with smoke and Noah beside her, gasping. Did they really think that she could straighten the mask on her own face and breathe in clean air while her asthmatic son struggled to take a breath? The assumption was that she and her child were two different entities with seperate hearts and lungs and minds. They didn't realise that when your child was gasping for air, you felt your own breath trapped in your chest.
Sharon Guskin (The Forgetting Time)
In 1946, a new advertising campaign appeared in magazines with a picture of a doctor in a lab coat holding a cigarette and the slogan, “More doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette.” No, this wasn’t a spoof. Back then, doctors were not aware that smoking could cause cancer, heart disease and lung disease.
Anonymous
To see Peggy rushing toward him like that, for him to be needed, to be an active participant in someone else’s life, to think that maybe he was more than just a lump of carbon being slowly ushered toward an unvarnished coffin; the feeling was one of pure, almost painful happiness, like a desperate embrace squeezing air from his lungs, and it was then that the realization hit him: he might not know what the future held—pain and loneliness and fear might still yet grind him into dust—but simply feeling the possibility that things could change for him was a start, like feeling the first hint of warmth from kindling rubbed together, the first wisp of smoke.
Richard Roper (How Not to Die Alone)
Blaming fatness for heart disease is a lot like blaming yellow teeth for lung cancer, rather than considering the possibility that smoking might play a role in both. And telling people they need to lose weight is a lot like telling someone with pneumonia to stop coughing so much—it may not be possible and won’t make the disease go away.
Linda Bacon (Body Respect: What Conventional Health Books Get Wrong, Leave Out, and Just Plain Fail to Understand about Weight)
Bye,” he said with a gentle smile. And with that, his delicious boots walked right out of the J-Bar, his dark blue Wranglers cloaking a body that I was sure had to have been chiseled out of granite. My lungs felt tight, and I still smelled his scent through the bar smoke in the air. I didn’t even know his name. I prayed it wasn’t Billy Bob.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
his lips as the pathetic creature tied to the tree watched in horror. “Oh, yes, they definitely want Ryan Carlyle dead tonight,” he said, flicking his lighter to the end of his Marlboro and cupping his hand around the tip. The thin paper and tobacco ignited in a flare. He drew in deeply, tasting the smoke, feeling it curl as it filled his lungs.
Lisa Jackson (Fatal Burn (Northwest, #2))
This is what it feels like to hold rage inside. That shit’s toxic for you. You’re either going to have to face your mother, your friends, your principal, your fucking life, or prepare to feel like you’re holding the smoke in your lungs for a very long time. Because, baby, it only gets worse from here on out. The older we get, the deeper the shit we’re swimming in gets.
L.J. Shen (Pretty Reckless (All Saints High, #1))
There’s a macabre medical maxim that says that the good people get the worst diseases. If a person is generous of spirit and comes in with a nagging abdominal discomfort the week after she runs a marathon, we’ll discover she has stage-four ovarian cancer. The racist pedophile who drowns kittens on Sundays survives being struck by lightning and lung cancer as he chain-smokes into his nineties.
Michele Harper (The Beauty in Breaking: A Memoir)
Once it was well known that cigarettes increased the incidence of lung cancer, the obvious remedy was to stop smoking, but the desired remedy was a cigarette that did not encourage cancer. When it became clear that the internal-combustion engine was polluting the atmosphere dangerously, the obvious remedy was to abandon such engines, and the desired remedy was to develop non-polluting engines.
Isaac Asimov (The Gods Themselves)
Find a person once deeply involved in church who has chosen to leave it, and you will likely hear that something harsh obtruded into that person's faith. Perhaps it was some Christians' judgmental attitude about a marriage situation. How many divorced people have left the church when made to feel like second-class citizens? Or perhaps it was disapproval of a habit, like smoking. Having treated emphysema and removed cancerous lungs, I hate smoking. And I hate what divorce does to its victims, especially the children. But I must not allow my views on smoking or divorce to drive people away. For a model, I must look to Jesus, who opposed the sin but loved the sinner. Though he openly declared God's laws, somehow he conveyed them with such love that he became known as the friend of sinners.
Paul W. Brand (Fearfully and Wonderfully Made)
By the way he shifted the bones in her hand, she knew he wanted her to scream. But as frightened as she was, she knew she was stronger than the breaking of her wrist. Though her courage had waned, her resolve held firm. Not trusting her voice to remain steady, Ming did the only thing she could as she forced her gaze upwards to meet Crane’s and exhaled the smoke she’d been holding in her lungs into his face.
Cerece Rennie Murphy (The Red Order (Order of the Seers, #2))
Ready?" Quinn asked when Sky wandered off and we couldn't avoid the family tent anymore. "Hell, no." "Me neither." Mom and Dad waited just inside the tent flap. The light from the oil lamps glinted off fangs, narrowed eyes, and Mom's weapon collection. "Congratulations." Dad spoke first, his voice soft as smoke before it fills your lungs. "I honestly don't know which of my children I'm angriest with right now.
Alyxandra Harvey (Blood Moon (Drake Chronicles, #5))
It is one thing to continue smoking despite general statistics that connect smoking with lung cancer. It is a very different thing to continue smoking despite a concrete warning from a biometric sensor that has just detected seventeen cancerous cells in your upper left lung. And if you are willing to defy the sensor, what will you do when the sensor forwards the warning to your insurance agency, your manager, and your mother?
Yuval Noah Harari (21 Lessons for the 21st Century)
What both paradoxes show is that decisions based on probabilistic arguments are not logical decisions. Logic and probabilistic arguments are incompatible... Jerry Cornfield justified the findings that smoking causes lung cancer by appealing to a piling up of evidence, where study after study shows results that are highly improbable unless you assume that smoking is the cause of the cancer. Is it illogical to believe that smoking causes cancer?
David Salsburg (The Lady Tasting Tea: How Statistics Revolutionized Science in the Twentieth Century)
Perched upon the stones of a bridge The soldiers had the eyes of ravens Their weapons hung black as talons Their eyes gloried in the smoke of murder To the shock of iron-heeled sticks I drew closer in the cripple’s bitter patience And before them I finally tottered Grasping to capture my elusive breath With the cockerel and swift of their knowing They watched and waited for me ‘I have come,’ said I, ‘from this road’s birth, I have come,’ said I, ‘seeking the best in us.’ The sergeant among them had red in his beard Glistening wet as he showed his teeth ‘There are few roads on this earth,’ said he, ‘that will lead you to the best in us, old one.’ ‘But you have seen all the tracks of men,’ said I ‘And where the mothers and children have fled Before your advance. Is there naught among them That you might set an old man upon?’ The surgeon among this rook had bones Under her vellum skin like a maker of limbs ‘Old one,’ said she, ‘I have dwelt In the heat of chests, among heart and lungs, And slid like a serpent between muscles, Swum the currents of slowing blood, And all these roads lead into the darkness Where the broken will at last rest. ‘Dare say I,’ she went on,‘there is no Place waiting inside where you might find In slithering exploration of mysteries All that you so boldly call the best in us.’ And then the man with shovel and pick, Who could raise fort and berm in a day Timbered of thought and measured in all things Set the gauge of his eyes upon the sun And said, ‘Look not in temples proud, Or in the palaces of the rich highborn, We have razed each in turn in our time To melt gold from icon and shrine And of all the treasures weeping in fire There was naught but the smile of greed And the thick power of possession. Know then this: all roads before you From the beginning of the ages past And those now upon us, yield no clue To the secret equations you seek, For each was built of bone and blood And the backs of the slave did bow To the laboured sentence of a life In chains of dire need and little worth. All that we build one day echoes hollow.’ ‘Where then, good soldiers, will I Ever find all that is best in us? If not in flesh or in temple bound Or wretched road of cobbled stone?’ ‘Could we answer you,’ said the sergeant, ‘This blood would cease its fatal flow, And my surgeon could seal wounds with a touch, All labours will ease before temple and road, Could we answer you,’ said the sergeant, ‘Crows might starve in our company And our talons we would cast in bogs For the gods to fight over as they will. But we have not found in all our years The best in us, until this very day.’ ‘How so?’ asked I, so lost now on the road, And said he, ‘Upon this bridge we sat Since the dawn’s bleak arrival, Our perch of despond so weary and worn, And you we watched, at first a speck Upon the strife-painted horizon So tortured in your tread as to soak our faces In the wonder of your will, yet on you came Upon two sticks so bowed in weight Seeking, say you, the best in us And now we have seen in your gift The best in us, and were treasures at hand We would set them humbly before you, A man without feet who walked a road.’ Now, soldiers with kind words are rare Enough, and I welcomed their regard As I moved among them, ’cross the bridge And onward to the long road beyond I travel seeking the best in us And one day it shall rise before me To bless this journey of mine, and this road I began upon long ago shall now end Where waits for all the best in us. ―Avas Didion Flicker Where Ravens Perch
Steven Erikson (The Crippled God (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #10))
In 1996, investigators from the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle studied 18,000 people who, because they had been exposed to asbestos, were—like those who smoked cigarettes—also at greater risk of lung cancer. Participants were given large doses of vitamin A, beta-carotene, both, or neither. The study ended abruptly when the safety monitors realized that those taking megavitamins had a dramatically higher rate of lung cancer (28 percent greater than those not receiving vitamins) as well as heart disease (17 percent greater).
Paul A. Offit (Pandora's Lab: Seven Stories of Science Gone Wrong)
It’s your life time that is short and running out all the time So what are you doing taking drugs? Why are you putting cigarette smoke in those beautiful lungs of yours? What are you drinking that poison for? Weeks ago sections of this city burned to the ground For nothing Months ago my best friend was shot in the face and killed on my front porch For nothing Life time’s up for him You’re different You’re alive, you’re breathing I’d like to see you stay that way Don’t do anything for nothing You’re too important This trip is all about you
Henry Rollins (See A Grown Man Cry/Now Watch Him Die)
I’ll start in the air,” I said, far more steadily than I thought I could, considering. I knelt to tie the shirt around his thigh, cinching it tight above the wound; he stiffened but let me finish the knot. “The air first, the airship, and then-then I’ll dive.” “You can’t swim,” broke in Armand. “You told me that you can’t.” “Maybe I can now. If I’m a dragon.” “Don’t be an idiot! If you can’t swim, you can’t swim, Eleanore! You’ll drown out there, and what the bloody hell do you think you’re going to do anyway to a U-boat? Bite it open?” I stood again. “Yes! If I must! I don’t hear you coming up with a better-“ “You’ll die out there!” “Or we’ll all die here!” “We’re going to find another way!” “You two work on that. I’m off.” I fixed them both with one last, vehement look, the Turn rising inside me. Remember this. Remember them, this moment, this heartbreak, these two boys. Remember that they loved you. Armand had reached for my shoulders. “I forbid-Eleanore, please, no-“ “No,” echoed Jesse, speaking at last. “You’re not going after the submarine, Lora. You won’t need to.” Armand and I paused together, glancing down at him. I stood practically on tiptoe, so ready to become my other self. Jesse climbed clumsily to his feet. When he swayed, we both lunged to catch him. “Armand will take me to the shore. I’ll handle the U-boat.” “How?” demanded Armand at once. But I understood. I could read him so well now, Jesse-of-the-stars. I understood what he meant to do, and what it would cost him. I felt myself shaking my head. Above us, the airship propellers thumped louder and louder. “Yes,” said Jesse, smiling his lovely smile at me. “I already sense your agreement. Death and the Elemental were stronger joined than apart, remember? This is our joining. Don’t waste any more time quarreling with me about it. That’s not your way.” He leaned down to me, a hand tangled in my hair. His mouth pressed to mine, and for the first time ever I didn’t feel bliss at his touch. I felt misery. “Go on, Lora-of-the-moon,” he murmured against my lips. “You’re going to save us. I know you will.” I glared past him to the harsh, baffled face of Armand. “Will you help him? Do you swear it?” “I-yes, I will. I do.” I disentangled Jesse’s hand, kissed it, stepped back, and let the Turn consume me, smoke rising and rising, leaving the castle and all I loved behind me for the wild open sky.
Shana Abe (The Sweetest Dark (The Sweetest Dark, #1))
Subway tunnels breathe. They exhale when trains come and inhale when they leave. Their concrete lungs fill with smoke and soot and rubber and the scents of a hundred ladies’ perfumes. When trains aren’t running, the tunnels hold their breath. They might let wisps of warm air drift into the cold night, draw in slow nips of bracing frost, but mostly they sit still, waiting for trains to bring them back to life. A thousand times a day their breath coursed over Joe Tesla’s body. It was not so warm as human breath, nor yet so cold as stone. He was used to it, now. Because he lived here, underground, in the tunnels of New York City.
Rebecca Cantrell (The World Beneath (Joe Tesla, #1))
Two decades ago the federal government invited 150,000 men and women to participate in an experiment of screening for cancer in four organs: prostate, lung, colon, and ovary. The volunteers were less likely to smoke, more likely to exercise, had higher socioeconomic status, and fewer medical problems than members of the general population. Those are the kinds of people who seek preventive intervention. Of course, they are going to do better. Had the study not been randomized, the investigators might have concluded that screening was the best thing since sliced bread. Regardless of which group they were randomly assigned to, the participants had substantially lower death rates than the general population—for all cancers (even those other than prostate, lung, colon, and ovary), for heart disease, and for injury. In other words, the volunteers were healthier than average. With randomization, the study showed that only one of the four screenings (for colon cancer) was beneficial. Without it, the study might have concluded that prostate cancer screening not only lowered the risk of death from prostate cancer but also deaths from leukemia, heart attack, and car accidents (although you would hope someone would raise the biological plausibility criterion here).
H. Gilbert Welch (Less Medicine, More Health: 7 Assumptions That Drive Too Much Medical Care)
study of thirty thousand elderly people in fifty-two countries found that switching to an overall healthy lifestyle—eating a diet rich in fruits and vegetables, not smoking, exercising moderately, and not drinking too much alcohol—lowered heart disease rates by approximately 50 percent.14 Reducing exposure to carcinogens, such as tobacco and sodium nitrite, have been shown to decrease the incidence of lung and stomach cancers, and it is likely (more evidence is needed) that lowering exposures to other known carcinogens, such as benzene and formaldehyde, will reduce the incidence of other cancers. Prevention really is the most powerful medicine, but we as a species consistently lack the political or psychological will to act preventively in our own best interests. It is worthwhile to ask to what extent efforts to treat the symptoms of common mismatch diseases have the effect of promoting dysevolution by taking attention and resources away from prevention. On an individual level, am I more likely to eat unhealthy foods and exercise insufficiently if I know I’ll have access to medical care to treat the symptoms of the diseases these choices cause many years later? More broadly within our society, is the money we allocate to treating diseases coming at the expense of money to prevent them?
Daniel E. Lieberman (The Story of the Human Body: Evolution, Health and Disease)
No, when the stresses are too great for the tired metal, when the ground mechanic who checks the de-icing equipment is crossed in love and skimps his job, way back in London, Idlewild, Gander, Montreal; when those or many things happen, then the little warm room with propellers in front falls straight down out of the sky into the sea or on to the land, heavier than air, fallible, vain. And the forty little heavier-than-air people, fallible within the plane's fallibility, vain within its larger vanity, fall down with it and make little holes in the land or little splashes in the sea. Which is anyway their destiny, so why worry? You are linked to the ground mechanic's careless fingers in Nassau just as you are linked to the weak head of the little man in the family saloon who mistakes the red light for the green and meets you head-on, for the first and last time, as you are motoring quietly home from some private sin. There's nothing to do about it. You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs. Your stars have already let you come quite a long way since you left your mother's womb and whimpered at the cold air of the world. Perhaps they'll even let you go to Jamaica tonight. Can't you hear those cheerful voices in the control tower that have said quietly all day long, 'Come in BOAC. Come in Panam. Come in KLM'? Can't you hear them calling you down too: 'Come in Transcarib. Come in Transcarib'? Don't lose faith in your stars. Remember that hot stitch of time when you faced death from the Robber's gun last night. You're still alive, aren't you? There, we're out of it already. It was just to remind you that being quick with a gun doesn't mean you're really tough. Just don't forget it. This happy landing at Palisadoes Airport comes to you courtesy of your stars. Better thank them.
Ian Fleming (Live and Let Die (James Bond, #2))
You are linked to the ground mechanic’s careless fingers in Nassau just as you are linked to the weak head of the little man in the family saloon who mistakes the red light for the green and meets you head-on, for the first and last time, as you are motoring quietly home from some private sin. There’s nothing to do about it. You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs. Your stars have already let you come quite a long way since you left your mother’s womb and whimpered at the cold air of the world.
Ian Fleming (Live and Let Die (James Bond, #2))
Wang Lung sat smoking, thinking of the silver as it had lain upon the table. It had come out of the earth, this silver, out of his earth that he ploughed and turned and spent himself upon. He took his life from this earth; drop by drop by his sweat he wrung food from it and from the food, silver. Each time before this that he had taken the silver out to give to anyone, it had been like taking a piece of his life and giving it to someone carelessly. But now for the first time such giving was not pain. He saw, not the silver in the alien hand of a merchant in the town; he saw the silver transmuted into something worth even more than itself—clothes upon the body of his son.
Pearl S. Buck (The Good Earth (House of Earth, #1))
Each has Republicans losing the Electoral College from 2024 to 2036.2 These trends have been evident for over two decades, and as someone who has sat in the room for five presidential campaigns and tried to figure out how to get a Republican candidate over the 270 mark, the math has been increasingly oppressive. The obvious choice for the party was to expand its appeal beyond white voters. That diagnosis was as obvious as telling a patient with lung cancer to quit smoking. But at the same time, Republicans were taking steps to change the electoral math by making it harder for nonwhites to vote. In this, they were continuing a long tradition of efforts by powerful white politicians to remain in power by suppressing votes.
Stuart Stevens (It Was All a Lie: How the Republican Party Became Donald Trump)
But these facts are not very useful to women, because there is a double standard for “health” in men and women. Women are not getting it wrong when they smoke to lose weight. Our society does reward beauty on the outside over health on the inside. Women must not be blamed for choosing short-term beauty “fixes” that harm our long-term health, since our life spans are inverted under the beauty myth, and there is no great social or economic incentive for women to live a long time. A thin young woman with precancerous lungs is more highly rewarded socially than a hearty old crone. Spokespeople sell women the Iron Maiden and name her “Health”; if public discourse were really concerned with women’s health, it would turn angrily upon this aspect of the beauty myth.
Naomi Wolf (The Beauty Myth)
He sent you a text message that read: FIre Sign - You're compatible with all signs. Your blood group breathes disappointment and happiness. You stick your tongue in the woman's mouth in order to cool down. The fog that burns on the ceiling is the steam of sweat. You buy pins and colored pictures from the shop. You pin them on your flesh when you receive a guest. The firewood comes to you throughout the night, wrapped in nightmares. When you wake up you have a bath on fire. You eat on fire. You read the newspapers on fire. You smoke a cigarette on fire. In the coffee cup you come across prophecies of fire. You laugh on fire. You have your lungs checked at the hospital, and they find a spring of errors that looks like a tumor. You dream of the final act: It goes out.
Hassan Blasim (The Corpse Exhibition and Other Stories of Iraq)
When fat is heated to frying temperatures, whether it be animal fat, such as lard, or plant fat, such as vegetable oil, toxic volatile chemicals with mutagenic properties (those able to cause genetic mutations) are released into the air.22 This happens even before the “smoke point” temperature is reached.23 If you do fry at home, good ventilation in the kitchen may reduce lung cancer risk.24 Cancer risk may also depend on what’s being fried. A study of women in China found that smokers who stir-fried meat every day had nearly three times the odds of lung cancer compared to smokers who stir-fried foods other than meat on a daily basis.25 This is thought to be because of a group of carcinogens called heterocyclic amines that are formed when muscle tissue is subjected to high temperatures.
Michael Greger (How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease)
A few Grik lunged at them, but the vast majority only wanted to get out of their way. These they left alone, conserving ammunition. It was a little disconcerting. They’d never seen so many “civilian” Grik before, and it was stunning how little fight they had in them. “What a buncha pansies!” Silva panted, still having trouble with the heavy, wretched air. Three Grik had nearly fallen over themselves trying to clear his path when he menaced them with the Thompson. Its barrel was still smoking after a long burst he fired down a congested alley where another column of warriors was struggling to get at them. Those that followed fired into the writhing mass as well, the heavy booming of their rifles much louder than the stutter of the Thompson. “Pansies!” Petey cawed. “Pansies! Ack! Goddamn!
Taylor Anderson (Deadly Shores (Destroyermen, #9))
There is an inherent, humbling cruelty to learning how to run white water. In most other so-called "adrenaline" sports—skiing, surfing and rock climbing come to mind—one attains mastery, or the illusion of it, only after long apprenticeship, after enduring falls and tumbles, the fatigue of training previously unused muscles, the discipline of developing a new and initially awkward set of skills. Running white water is fundamentally different. With a little luck one is immediately able to travel long distances, often at great speeds, with only a rudimentary command of the sport's essential skills and about as much physical stamina as it takes to ride a bicycle downhill. At the beginning, at least, white-water adrenaline comes cheap. It's the river doing the work, of course, but like a teenager with a hot car, one forgets what the true power source is. Arrogance reigns. The river seems all smoke and mirrors, lots of bark (you hear it chortling away beneath you, crunching boulders), but not much bite. You think: Let's get on with it! Let's run this damn river! And then maybe the raft hits a drop in the river— say, a short, hidden waterfall. Or maybe a wave reaches up and flicks the boat on its side as easily as a horse swatting flies with its tail. Maybe you're thrown suddenly into the center of the raft, and the floor bounces back and punts you overboard. Maybe you just fall right off the side of the raft so fast you don't realize what's happening. It doesn't matter. The results are the same. The world goes dark. The river— the word hardly does justice to the churning mess enveloping you— the river tumbles you like so much laundry. It punches the air from your lungs. You're helpless. Swimming is a joke. You know for a fact that you are drowning. For the first time you understand the strength of the insouciant monster that has swallowed you. Maybe you travel a hundred feet before you surface (the current is moving that fast). And another hundred feet—just short of a truly fearsome plunge, one that will surely kill you— before you see the rescue lines. You're hauled to shore wearing a sheepish grin and a look in your eye that is equal parts confusion, respect, and raw fear. That is River Lesson Number One. Everyone suffers it. And every time you get the least bit cocky, every time you think you have finally figured out what the river is all about, you suffer it all over again.
Joe Kane (Running the Amazon)
A Forge, and a Scythe" One minute I had the windows open and the sun was out. Warm breezes blew through the room. (I remarked on this in a letter.) Then, while I watched, it grew dark. The water began whitecapping. All the sport-fishing boats turned and headed in, a little fleet. Those wind-chimes on the porch blew down. The tops of our trees shook. The stove pipe squeaked and rattled around in its moorings. I said, "A forge, and a scythe." I talk to myself like this. Saying the names of things -- capstan, hawser, loam, leaf, furnace. Your face, your mouth, your shoulder inconceivable to me now! Where did they go? It's like I dreamed them. The stones we brought home from the beach lie face up on the windowsill, cooling. Come home. Do you hear? My lungs are thick with the smoke of your absence.
Raymond Carver (All of Us: The Collected Poems)
And, ach! what a beautiful skeleton you will make! And very soon, too, because you do not smile on your madly loving Svengali. You burn his letters without reading them! You shall have a nice little mahogany glass case all to yourself in the museum of the École de Médecine, and Svengali shall come in his new fur-lined coat, smoking his big cigar of the Havana, and push the dirty carabins* out of the way, and look through the holes of your eyes into your stupid empty skull, and up the nostrils of your high, bony sounding-board of a nose without either a tip or a lip to it, and into the roof of your big mouth, with your thirty-two big English teeth, and between your big ribs into your big chest, where the big leather lungs used to be, and say, “Ach! what a pity she had no more music in her than a big tom-cat!” And then he will look all down your bones to your poor crumbling feet, and say, “Ach! what a fool she was not to answer Svengali’s letters!
George du Maurier (Trilby)
My arm reaches up. I don't know if I'm reaching for the pipe or for him. I want to touch his skin. I want to breathe in what he breathes. The yellow swirl. I want to be the yellow swirl. I want him to breathe me in, be sent riding on oxygen molecules deep into lungs. I want to travel through his body, seeing what makes him happy, attaching myself to whatever place in him sparks to life on my arrival. His blood. His tissues. His muscles. I want to burrow inside the folds like a wind-blown dusting of snow so that each time I melt away, he seeks me out again. There's no delineation between the pipe and the smoke and his body. It's all whole, I want in. I want him. 'Please,' I say softly, 'let me try.' Without letting go of the pipe, he swings his hand holding the lighter with incredible force, backhanding my face. My jaw pops. The lighter swings back under the pipe undulating back and forth, inhaling the curl as it rises from the tar, exactly the same as before he hit me, only now he's staring at me, hating me.
Josh Kilmer-Purcell (I Am Not Myself These Days)
Mother / Father (Noose break I’m coming down) I want to make friends with your father (No breath for lungs to move) So I can find out what your next mood is, your next move (Ahh tongue tied for once I’ve found) I want to get naked with your mother (No smoking on the wall) Like pictures I found, a flower Whenever I… Communicate Whenever I... You take, you change Whenever I… Communicate Whenever I… You take. you change (My attention I cant hold) I see your face rise in shallows (Become like steel to touch) Like the full moon and the hours (Oh, thoughts flying state to state) I want to strip off and run for cover (Oh, Only time will tell) Free look on our love, come follow Take it up with me, when you find yourself (Whenever I…) Communicate (Whenever I...) You take, you change (Whenever I…) Communicate (Whenever I…) You take. you change (Whenever I…) When you find yourself (Whenever I…) When you find yourself (Whenever I…) When you find yourself (Whenever I…) When you find yourself credits
Lurch & Chief
Ionizing radiation takes three principal forms: alpha particles, beta particles, and gamma rays. Alpha particles are relatively large, heavy, and slow moving and cannot penetrate the skin; even a sheet of paper could block their path. But if they do manage to find their way inside the body by other means—if swallowed or inhaled—alpha particles can cause massive chromosomal damage and death. Radon 222, which gathers as a gas in unventilated basements, releases alpha particles into the lungs, where it causes cancer. Polonium 210, a powerful alpha emitter, is one of the carcinogens in cigarette smoke. It was also the poison slipped into the cup of tea that killed former FSB agent Alexander Litvinenko in London in 2006. Beta particles are smaller and faster moving than alpha particles and can penetrate more deeply into living tissue, causing visible burns on the skin and lasting genetic damage. A piece of paper won’t provide protection from beta particles, but aluminum foil—or separation by sufficient distance—will. Beyond a range of ten feet, beta particles can cause little damage, but they prove dangerous if ingested in any way. Mistaken by the body for essential elements, beta-emitting radioisotopes can become fatally concentrated in specific organs: strontium 90, a member of the same chemical family as calcium, is retained in the bones; ruthenium is absorbed by the intestine; iodine 131 lodges particularly in the thyroid of children, where it can cause cancer. Gamma rays—high-frequency electromagnetic waves traveling at the speed of light—are the most energetic of all. They can traverse large distances, penetrate anything short of thick pieces of concrete or lead, and destroy electronics. Gamma rays pass straight through a human being without slowing down, smashing through cells like a fusillade of microscopic bullets. Severe exposure to all ionizing radiation results in acute radiation syndrome (ARS), in which the fabric of the human body is unpicked, rearranged, and destroyed at the most minute levels. Symptoms include nausea, vomiting, hemorrhaging, and hair loss, followed by a collapse of the immune system, exhaustion of bone marrow, disintegration of internal organs, and, finally, death.
Adam Higginbotham (Midnight in Chernobyl: The Untold Story of the World's Greatest Nuclear Disaster)
We talked into the night, the room blurring around us as it had done at the dance in West Side Story when Tony and Maria first saw each other across a crowd of people. Tonight, tonight, it all began tonight. My friends giggled and sipped wine at the table where I’d abandoned them earlier in the night, oblivious to the fact that their redheaded amiga had just been struck by a lightning bolt. Before I could internally break into the second chorus of song, my version of Tony--this mysterious cowboy--announced abruptly that he had to go. Go? I thought. Go where? There’s no place on earth but this smoky bar…But there was for him: he and his brother had plans to cook Christmas turkeys for some needy folks in his small town. Mmmm. He’s nice, too, I thought as a pang stabbed my insides. “Bye,” he said with a gentle smile. And with that, his delicious boots walked right out of the J-Bar, his dark blue Wranglers cloaking a body that I was sure had to have been chiseled out of granite. My lungs felt tight, and I still smelled his scent through the bar smoke in the air. I didn’t even know his name. I prayed it wasn’t Billy Bob.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
Something More Fragile Than This" Quick before our bodies turn themselves in, with a reverence reserved for the dead touch me because I want to remember how beautiful I am. While Spring snows around us, cracking her eggs on our windows, in her meager dress of yellowing-white, because I want to rise into today. So why the urge to render something more fragile than this? Why, always, the soul blowing glass? The soul, once again, filling the lungs with smoke because a memory of regret sweats in the plastic sleeve of a family album. Because there’s a snapshot caught between the pages of some thick book: my heavy 20 year old frame setting off the 60lb weight of a dying mother. Because somewhere, there’s a negative slide of my heart. Because and because and because I’m sure there’s a photo in some drawer that shows me dressed in black. But I want to devote myself to the mystery of this afternoon. I want to honor this falling night, worship the hour vanishing between six and seven. This moment where I’m standing against myself and against you with a taste in my mouth that’s yolk. With Bob Marley taking that one long drag on the refrigerator door.
Olena Kalytiak Davis (And Her Soul Out Of Nothing)
He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and relish the coolness, but all he could afford to do was cough some smoke out of his lungs and turn back to the task at hand. Which apparently included scolding a certain hardheaded woman for not heeding his instructions. Meredith glared at him from where she stood pumping water into the trough, not a hint of apology in her demeanor. Travis stormed past her and worked the knot on Jochebed’s lead line. “I thought I told you to go up to the house.” The pump arm creaked as she gave it a series of vigorous yanks, then fell silent as water gushed into the trough. “As I recall,” she said, rubbing her palms into her skirt, “you never forbade me from working the pump. You simply expressed your doubts as to my ability to do so.” Travis’s grip on the cow’s rope tightened. “Don’t play word games with me, Meredith. You knew what I meant.” “Did I?” She reached for a stew pot and dipped it into the trough. “Seems to me that a man who claims protecting his brothers and his land always comes first wouldn’t be so quick to refuse able-bodied help just because that body happens to be female.” She set the full pot on the ground and crossed her arms over her chest. Travis’s eyes followed the movement, noting the curves it accentuated. Yep. Definitely female. He wouldn’t be arguing that point.
Karen Witemeyer (Short-Straw Bride (Archer Brothers, #1))
To expect sustainable development or a trust in business as usual to be viable policies is like expecting a lung cancer victim to be cured by stopping smoking; both measures deny the existence of the Earth’s disease, the fever brought on by a plague of people.
James E. Lovelock (The Revenge of Gaia: Earth's Climate Crisis & the Fate of Humanity)
The smoke burns slightly down my throat and to my lungs. I focus on this, and empty my head, empty the images of Skye’s beautiful face all bruised up. In the end, I can’t even give her what she’s rightfully asking. A kiss. Just a fucking kiss on her lips. Even that I’m unable to do. It’d be pathetic if our situation and our past weren’t so tragic. I take another drag of my cigarette and watch the smoke swirling in the room only lit by the moonlight. — Duke
Stephanie Witter (Fix Up (Patch Up, #2))
Extremely Vivid Dreams of Smoking/Using Stay prepared for dynamic dreams of smoking or using tobacco products. They may be so vivid and so real that you'll awaken totally convinced that you've relapsed to using. Such dreams are normal, expected and are often a sign of physical healing. And it isn't unusual to experience more than one. Picture a horizontal body in which mouth, throat and lung tissues suddenly begin healing and re-sensitizing after years of being marinated in toxin rich tobacco tars. Picture the sweeper brooms lining the smoker's lung bronchial tubes (their cilia) quickly regenerating and beginning to sweep mucus and tars up to the back of their throat. Now throw in a rapidly healing sense taste and smell, a horizontal sleeping body and dreaming. Presto! The tobacco smells and tastes you'll experience are probably real. What better proof could we possibly feel and sense of the amazing healing happening within? The dream that seems to cause the most concern is the one that happens later in recovery, weeks or even months after full acceptance that this time is for keeps. Although nearly always described as a "nightmare," they are sometimes mistaken by the ex-user as a sign that they want to start using again. It's here that we point out the obvious conflict. If a nightmare and not real, then why would any rational person want to invite their nightmare to become a real and destructive part of daily life? As Joel notes, seeing smoking as a nightmare is a healthy sign. And as for having smoking dreams long after ending use, such dreams are normal, yet not nearly as vivid as during the first week or so. We can no more erase from our mind our thousands of old nicotine use memories than we can our name. They reflect who we once were. What's amazing is that they happen so infrequently. Bad Days Ex-users should expect to experience bad days. Why? Because everyone has them, including never-users. But when a bad day occurs early in recovery it can become ammunition inside the challenged addict's mind as it searches for any excuse to use. Blaming a bad day on recovery would never have crossed our mind if it had occurred the week before ending nicotine use. But now, nicotine's absence becomes a magnet for blame. Would it ever occur to a never-user to reach for nicotine if having a bad day? It's a thought process peculiar to us nicotine addicts. As Joel teaches, if the bad day happens during the first week after ending nicotine use then feel free to blame recovery as "it is probably the reason." "But as time marches on you need to be a little more discriminating." Acknowledge bad days but allow your healing to live. "Sure there are some tough times," writes Joel, "but they pass and at the end of the day, you can still be free." Staying free means that, "in the greater scheme of things, it was a good day." If you want to hear about a horrible day, talk to someone
John R. Polito (Freedom from Nicotine - The Journey Home)
An example: A few years ago, the public health authorities in Canada, where it had been estimated that smoking kills forty-five thousand people a year, decided to supplement the warning printed on every pack of cigarettes with a shock-photograph—of cancerous lungs, or a stroke-clotted brain, or a damaged heart, or a bloody mouth in acute periodontal distress. A pack with such a picture accompanying the warning about the deleterious effects of smoking would be sixty times more likely to inspire smokers to quit, a research study had somehow calculated, than a pack with only the verbal warning. Let’s assume this is true. But one might wonder, for how long? Does shock have term limits? Right now the smokers of Canada are recoiling in disgust, if they do look at these pictures. Will those still smoking five years from now still be upset? Shock can become familiar. Shock can wear off. Even if it doesn’t, one can not look. People have means to defend themselves against what is upsetting—in this instance, unpleasant information for those wishing to continue to smoke. This seems normal, that is, adaptive. As one can become habituated to horror in real life, one can become habituated to the horror of certain images.
Susan Sontag (Regarding the Pain of Others)
My personal favorite is Quit Pro - Stop Smoking Now. The Rebalancing Technique This an easy technique to tell your primitive brain you are safe and helps to calm and relax you by activating the parasympathetic nervous system. This works great for anxiety, panic and the general overwhelming feelings that can be triggered when we quit smoking. Remember, your subconscious believes that you need nicotine to survive, which is part of why it kicks up such a fuss when it notices your nicotine levels have gone down. Finding ways of communicating with your subconscious and nervous system in a way it understands is key to controlling your withdrawal symptoms. I find physical actions highly effective for communicating with this primitive part of our brains. Find a comfortable position - standing, sitting or lying down. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Really fill your lungs down into your belly. Place your hands down slightly away from your sides, with your palms facing forward and your fingers long and straight. (When we are stressed or feel threatened we clench our fist and cross our arms over our chest or tummy to protect our vital organs and ourselves. By having our hands and arms open, we are telling our brain that we are safe.) Turn your head gently to one side, within a comfortable range with your chin slightly up. (When we’re stressed, we tend to tighten our neck muscles and bring our head down to protect our throats. By exposing our necks, we are communicating to our nervous system that we feel open and trusting.) Do one or more nice big yawns, really stretching your jaw open. Then focus on the muscles around your jaw being really relaxed, resting your tongue gently on the roof of your mouth. (We have a tendency to clench our jaw muscles in times of stress, anxiety, discomfort, annoyance or when feeling depressed or overwhelmed. This tension tells your brain you are stressed and keeps the fight or flight stress response activated. Purposely relaxing the jaw helps to communicate that it’s safe to relax.) Take slow deep breaths, exhaling for twice as long as you inhale – imagining you can breathe any stress, worries or tension out of your lungs like black smoke... Do this every hour or two if you are experiencing anxiety to retrain your nervous system
Caroline Cranshaw (The Smoking Cure: How To Quit Smoking Without Feeling Like Sh*t)
(When we’re stressed, we tend to tighten our neck muscles and bring our head down to protect our throats. By exposing our necks, we are communicating to our nervous system that we feel open and trusting.) Do one or more nice big yawns, really stretching your jaw open. Then focus on the muscles around your jaw being really relaxed, resting your tongue gently on the roof of your mouth. (We have a tendency to clench our jaw muscles in times of stress, anxiety, discomfort, annoyance or when feeling depressed or overwhelmed. This tension tells your brain you are stressed and keeps the fight or flight stress response activated. Purposely relaxing the jaw helps to communicate that it’s safe to relax.) Take slow deep breaths, exhaling for twice as long as you inhale – imagining you can breathe any stress, worries or tension out of your lungs like black smoke... Do this every hour or two if you are experiencing anxiety to retrain your nervous
Caroline Cranshaw (The Smoking Cure: How To Quit Smoking Without Feeling Like Sh*t)
(When we’re stressed, we tend to tighten our neck muscles and bring our head down to protect our throats. By exposing our necks, we are communicating to our nervous system that we feel open and trusting.) Do one or more nice big yawns, really stretching your jaw open. Then focus on the muscles around your jaw being really relaxed, resting your tongue gently on the roof of your mouth. (We have a tendency to clench our jaw muscles in times of stress, anxiety, discomfort, annoyance or when feeling depressed or overwhelmed. This tension tells your brain you are stressed and keeps the fight or flight stress response activated. Purposely relaxing the jaw helps to communicate that it’s safe to relax.) Take slow deep breaths, exhaling for twice as long as you inhale – imagining you can breathe any stress, worries or tension out of your lungs like black smoke... Do this every hour or two if you are experiencing anxiety to retrain
Caroline Cranshaw (The Smoking Cure: How To Quit Smoking Without Feeling Like Sh*t)
when the ACE study data started to appear on his computer screen, he realized that they had stumbled upon the gravest and most costly public health issue in the United States: child abuse. He had calculated that its overall costs exceeded those of cancer or heart disease and that eradicating child abuse in America would reduce the overall rate of depression by more than half, alcoholism by two-thirds, and suicide, IV drug use, and domestic violence by three-quarters.20 It would also have a dramatic effect on workplace performance and vastly decrease the need for incarceration. When the surgeon general’s report on smoking and health was published in 1964, it unleashed a decades-long legal and medical campaign that has changed daily life and long-term health prospects for millions. The number of American smokers fell from 42 percent of adults in 1965 to 19 percent in 2010, and it is estimated that nearly 800,000 deaths from lung cancer were prevented between 1975 and 2000.21 The ACE study, however, has had no such effect. Follow-up studies and papers are still appearing around the world, but the day-to-day reality of children like Marilyn and the children in outpatient clinics and residential treatment centers around the country remains virtually the same. Only now they receive high doses of psychotropic agents, which makes them more tractable but which also impairs their ability to feel pleasure and curiosity, to grow and develop emotionally and intellectually, and to become contributing members of society.
Bessel van der Kolk (The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma)
LUNG CANCER is linked to cigarette smoking - but L&M still plug their cigarettes as “just what the doctor ordered.
Tony Bacon (60 Years of Fender: Six Decades of the Greatest Electric Guitars)
They had to park the Jeep, load the engine parts into the dinghy, and row across the bar, so by the time they reached the Misty Day Spence was already there, leaning against the cradle, puffing on a cigarette. Mr. Jones frowned when he saw him. “How old are you?” he asked. “Sixteen,” said Spence. “Why?” “Do you know what your lungs are going to look like by the time you’re fifty?” Spence shrugged, then nodded toward the ever-present pipe that hung from Mr. Jones’s lip. “No worse than yours, I guess,” he said. Mr. Jones looked puzzled. “He means your pipe,” Denny prompted. “Yeah,” said Spence, “and don’t give me any of that crap about a pipe being not as bad as a cigarette. They’re all the same.” Mr. Jones took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at it thoughtfully. “You know,” he said, “you’ve got a point there. Kind of like the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?” Spence nodded. “Tell you what I’m going to do,” said Mr. Jones. “I’ll make you a little wager. I’ll bet I can give up smoking my pipe if you can give up your cigarettes.” Denny bit her lip to keep from smiling. Spence took another drag on his cigarette and stared at Mr. Jones skeptically. “Of course, if you don’t think you’ve got the willpower,” said Mr. Jones. Spence dropped his cigarette and crushed it into the ground. “I can quit anytime I want,” he said, then looked up. “But I don’t want to.” “Oh, sure,” said Denny. “That’s what they all say.” Spence looked at her and narrowed her eyes. “Who asked you?” he said. “You just don’t think you can do it,” Denny went on. “You’re afraid Mr. Jones is gonna show you up.” “Oh, yeah?” said Spence. He pulled his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, smiled wryly at Denny, and tossed them basketball style into Mr. Jones’s trash barrel, then reached a hand out to Mr. Jones. “You got a deal, old man,” he said. Mr. Jones shook his hand and nodded, then stuck the pipe back in his mouth. “You don’t mind if I just kind of let it hang here, do you, for old times’ sake?” Spence shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, “as long as you don’t light up.” “I’m a man of my word,” said Mr. Jones. “No flame will ever touch this pipe again.” Spence nodded and stalked off toward the shed. Denny giggled. “You’re awful,” she said. Mr. Jones winked. “What’s awful?” he said. “I’m doing him a favor.
Jackie French Koller (The Last Voyage of the Misty Day)
1. Jerk 2.Smokes cigars 3.Will die of lung cancer 4.Hopefully soon 5.Excellent physical shape
Becca Fitzpatrick
Get away from me!” I snarled as I spun circles of flames in the dark air, batting the whip away from me and almost setting the retiarius net aflame. “Stay back or burn, you jackals!” One girl screamed in alarm as my torch set her tunic hem smoldering, and she quickly fell back, slapping at the cloth. The firebrands flared and flamed in my hands, trailing smoke and embers in the dimachaerus patterns I’d practiced, as my attackers backed off. When I lunged straight at the girl with the whip, she turned and ran, melting back into the night, the other girls following close on her heels. I shouted after them to come back and face me. In truth, I was just as glad they were gone. My arms and legs throbbed as I let the torches drop to my sides. I squeezed my eyes shut to clear the afterglare of fire blindness. When I opened them again and lifted my head to the cool night breeze, I saw a figure, cloaked and hooded, standing on the balcony above the courtyard, watching me. The Lanista. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew it was her. I could feel her gaze on me, sharp and appraising. I straightened up, standing as tall as I could, and met her gaze. She stood there for a long moment. Then she turned without a word and disappeared into the darkness.
Lesley Livingston (The Valiant (The Valiant, #1))
Once you gulp carbon down, either as cigarette smoke or city dirt, your body never gets rid of it. It just stays in your lungs.
Jeffery Hudson (A Case of Need)
The sun seemed to take a long while to sink from the sky. The colors of the heavens were blood red, surrounded by shades of orange and pink. As the moon appeared, the clouds covered it like a thin veil. A ring appeared around the moon like some terrible omen. The forest was dark, eerily silent. Tendrils of fog wound low to the ground around tree trunks and bushes. A gentle wind lazily pushed the clouds, brushed at heavy branches, and tried vainly to disperse the smell of smoke that lingered persistently in the forest. The wind fingered the black ashes and burned beams, the blackened stones, all that remained of what had once been Mikhail Dubrinsky’s home. Two wolves nosed at the blackened remains, lifted their muzzles skyward, and howled mournfully. Throughout the forest other wolves answered, sang out their grief. Within a few minutes, the echoes of their tribute died away. The two wolves circled the charred ruins and sniffed at the two shadowy sentinels they found standing sharply alert near the wrought-iron gate. The wolves swung quickly away, finding something menacing in the two lethal figures. They trotted briskly back into the darkened interior of the forest. Silence once more blanketed the mountains like a shroud. The forest creatures huddled in their dens and holes, rather than face the smell of the ashes and the death of the home of one who was so much a part of them. Below the earth two bodies lay motionless, lifeless. Into the silence, a single heart began to beat. Strong, steady. Blood rushed, receded. A long, low hiss of air heralded the working of lungs. Dark eyes snapped open, and Mikhail searched the grounds above him.
Christine Feehan (Dark Prince (Dark, #1))
I went to his house, Mummy,” I said. I heard the click of a lighter and then a long exhaled breath. I could almost smell the smoke from her Sobranie. “Oooh,” she said. “Interesting.” She took in another lungful and expelled it with a sigh. “Who’s this ‘he’”?
Gail Honeyman (Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine)
within about fifteen years of stopping smoking, your lung-cancer risk approaches that of a lifelong nonsmoker.
Michael Greger (How Not to Die: Discover the Foods Scientifically Proven to Prevent and Reverse Disease)
A good marketer can sell practically anything to anyone. Tobacco is literally dried, decaying vegetable matter that you light on fire and inhale, breathing horrid-tasting, toxic fumes into your lungs.121 At one point marketers promoted smoking as a status symbol and claimed it had health benefits. Once you give it a try, the addictive nature of the drug kicks in, and the agency’s job becomes much easier. If they can get you hooked, the product will sell itself. Since the product is actually poison, advertisers need to overcome your instinctual aversion. That’s a big hill for alcohol advertisements to climb, which is why the absolute best marketing firms on the globe, firms with psychologists and human behavior specialists on staff, are hired to create the ads. These marketers know that the most effective sale is an emotional sale, one that plays on your deepest fears, your ultimate concerns. Alcohol advertisements sell an end to loneliness, claiming that drinking provides friendship and romance. They appeal to your need for freedom by saying drinking will make you unique, brave, bold, or courageous. They promise fulfillment, satisfaction, and happiness. All these messages speak to your conscious and unconscious minds.
Annie Grace (This Naked Mind: Control Alcohol, Find Freedom, Discover Happiness & Change Your Life)
During construction, the plant’s massive roof was supposed to be sealed with a non-combustible material, for obvious reasons. None was readily available in the required quantities, so to proceed on schedule he sourced bitumen instead, of which there was enough in storage.147 Bitumen is a highly flammable substance, banned from industrial use in the Soviet Union for over a decade (which is perhaps why there was so much of it lying around).148 The bitumen melted in the intense heat, sticking to the firemen’s boots, hindering their mobility and filling their lungs with toxic smoke.
Andrew Leatherbarrow (Chernobyl 01:23:40: The Incredible True Story of the World's Worst Nuclear Disaster)
First of all, you see our smoke. That’s meat and drink to us. It’s the healthiest thing in the world in all respects, and particularly for the lungs.
Charles Dickens (Hard Times)
said. Karen inhaled deeply and blew until there was no more air in her lungs and smoke filled the room but there wasn’t a single candle still burning. “Never underestimate the power of a strong woman,” she said breathlessly. “Amen,” Hannah murmured. Kim motioned toward the bar. “Momma’s choice tonight. Mexican buffet, which comes before cake.” “Not for me. I’m having a slice of that cake right now. It’s my birthday and I want dessert first. Momma always let me do that on my birthday when I was a little girl,” Karen said. “Yes, I did, and if you want your cake first tonight, then have at it,” Hannah agreed. “Well, I’m getting into those tacos,” Edith said. “Y’all have to try my watermelon salsa. I hadn’t made it in years, but it turned out pretty good considering that the watermelon wasn’t as good as I like it to be.” “What’s in it?” Sue asked.
Carolyn Brown (Hidden Secrets)
Two pairs of strangers performed. Jane watched them. Mr. Nobley watched her. Then it was her turn. She curtsied to the audience, to Mr. Nobley, and faced him in the center of the floor. All eyes watched them. Jane looked for Martin in the crowd. Maybe I really don’t want this, she thought. This is summer camp. This is a novel. This isn’t home. I need something real. Root beer and disposable umbrellas and bare feet real. “I believe we must say something.” It was Mr. Nobley who spoke. “Sorry,” she said. “Are you unwell tonight?” “Do I look unwell?” He smiled. “You are baiting me. It will not work tonight, Miss Erstwhile. I am completely at ease. I might even say, I am quite content.” Jane pushed the air out of her lungs. Part of her very much wanted to banter and play, to twirl and laugh, to be Miss Erstwhile and fall in love with Mr. Nobley (fall back in love?), but she felt herself on that razor’s edge, talking toe to heel like a gymnast, and when she fell this time, she wanted to be on the real world side, away from heartless fantasy, into the tangible. Then, with his hand on her waist to lead her through another figure, Mr. Nobley smiled at her again, and she clean forgot what she wanted. Him, him, him! she thought. I want him and this and everything, every flower, every strain of music. And I don’t want it wrapped up in a box--I want it living, around me, real. Why can’t I have that? I’m not ready to give it up. The first number ended, the group applauded the musicians. Mr. Nobley seemed to applaud Jane. “You look flushed,” he said. “I will get you a drink.” And he was gone. Jane smiled at his back. She liked a man in tails. Something bumped her elbow. “Excuse me…of, it is you, Jane, dear,” said Aunt Saffronia. She’d been watching Mr. Nobley as well, and her expression was still misty with contemplation. “Where is your partner off to?” “He is fetching me a drink,” said Jane. “I’ve never seen him so attentive. Or so at ease.” “Nor I, not in the four years I have known him. He is acting like a proper gentleman in love, is he not? I might almost say that he looks happy.” Aunt Saffronia was thoughtful, and while she stared, she idly bit her fingernail right through her glove. “Is he in love?” asked Jane. She was feeling bold in her bridal gown. “Hm, a question only hearts can answer.” She looked fully at Jane now and smiled approvingly. “Well, you are a confection tonight! And no wonder.” Aunt Saffronia leaned in to touch cheeks and kiss, and Jane caught a trace of cigarette smoke. Could the dear lady be the unseen smoker? What a lot of secrets in this place, thought Jane. She’d never before considered that Austen didn’t just write romances and comedies, but mysteries as well.
Shannon Hale (Austenland (Austenland, #1))
It was found that children who grow up with smokers in their homes are three times more likely to develop lung cancer in their later years than those who come from non-smoking homes.
K.C. Craichy (Super Health: 7 Golden Keys to Unlock Lifelong Vitality)
The temperature in the room rose by twenty degrees as the front line of undead exploded into ash. Black clouds filled the air, biting at my lungs. It was like sitting in a sauna that was built inside an ashtray—the perfect stop smoking ad.
Tim Marquitz (Resurrection (Demon Squad, #2))
Of course, that’s crazy. Doll and Hill’s data from over fifty years ago are equally relevant today—no matter how or where we study the issue, the finding is the same: smokers are ten to thirty times more likely to die from lung cancer than nonsmokers. This makes smoking the most powerful modifiable risk factor for cancers that kill people. Spiral CT technology is detecting a very different category of lung cancer, small abnormalities that meet the pathologic criteria for lung cancer yet are not destined to cause symptoms or death. Spiral CT is causing a substantial amount of overdiagnosis.
H. Gilbert Welch (Overdiagnosed: Making People Sick in the Pursuit of Health)
The right half of the table shows you data from 2001 on spiral CT screening on more than five thousand volunteers, some of whom smoked, some of whom did not.13 This study measured the rate of lung cancer diagnosis in smokers and nonsmokers. What it shows you is that with the advent of spiral CT, nonsmokers have about the same risk of lung cancer as smokers. It sure looks like the use of spiral CT has made cigarette smoking much better for you.
H. Gilbert Welch (Overdiagnosed: Making People Sick in the Pursuit of Health)
There was only one thing for me to do when I started my new life in the dorm: stop taking everything so seriously; establish a proper distance between myself and everything else. Forget about green-felt pool tables and red N-360s and white flowers on school desks; about smoke rising from tall crematorium smokestacks, and chunky paperweights in police interrogation rooms. It seemed to work at first. I tried hard to forget, but there remained inside me a vague knot-of-air kind of thing. And as time went by, the knot began to take on a clear and simple form, a form that I am able to put into words, like this: Death exists, not as the opposite but as a part of life. Translated into words, it’s a cliché, but at the time I felt it not as words but as that knot of air inside me. Death exists—in a paperweight, in four red and white balls on a billiard table—and we go on living and breathing it into our lungs like fine dust.
Haruki Murakami (Norwegian Wood)
She put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it, tasting the familiar taste of nicotine, smoke, and impending lung cancer. It felt good. She
Mike Omer (Web of Fear (Glenmore Park Mystery, #3))
Imagine that someone came up with a brilliant new campaign against smoking. It would show graphic images of people dying of lung cancer followed by the punch line: ‘It’s easy to be healthy—smoke one less cigarette a month.’ We know without a moment’s reflection that this campaign would fail,” wrote British climate activist and author George Marshall. “The target is so ludicrous, and the disconnection between the images and the message is so great, that most smokers would just laugh it off.
Naomi Klein (This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. the Climate)
Ramos drank a shot, then he lit up and dragged the smoke deep into his lungs. 'Ahh," he said on the exhale. Sometimes I envy people who smoke. They always look so happy when they suck in that first lungful of tar. I can't think of many things that make me that happy. Maybe birthday cake.
Janet Evanovich (Hot Six (Stephanie Plum, #6))
I was in a forest, the wind whipping around me. Everything seemed grey, as though the colour had seeped out of the world. But I could see something up ahead: a fire. It was burning brightly. I couldn’t feel the heat, but I knew in my mind that it was there, that I could feel it brushing my skin as I moved closer. When I set foot in the clearing, I realised that it wasn’t just a fire. It was hundreds, maybe thousands of candles, burning all around me. There was someone standing among them. I saw the shadow of a tall hat, a long black dress, sinister sharp fingernails. She was chanting words in a language I couldn’t understand. She turned to me and her face was a blur. But it was Ebony. It felt like Ebony. The figure wore Ebony’s boots and had her black and battered suitcase at her feet. The girl’s features shifted like someone was crafting them out of clay, and soon the face was Ebony’s too. She smiled her unnerving smile at me. “Ivy,” she said. “You’re just in time.” The flames roared behind her. “What are you doing?” I asked. She didn’t reply, but reached down towards the suitcase and flicked the catches open. I had no idea what was inside it, but I felt instant dread filling my entire body. I didn’t want to look. I couldn’t. “You really should look more closely,” her voice insisted, singsong and seductive. “Why?” I asked, my feet carrying me nearer, even though I urged them to turn and run. The smile remained. “Because I’m going to do a trick.” And as she said that, black plumes of smoke began rising from the suitcase, until they were enveloping me, filling my lungs, and I was pulled down inside … And I was falling … And falling …
Sophie Cleverly (The Curse in the Candlelight (Scarlet and Ivy, #5))
Anthracosis is accumulation of carbon particles in the lung. Once you gulp carbon down, either as cigarette smoke or city dirt, your body never gets rid of it.
Jeffery Hudson (A Case of Need)
Running through the streets around Noavek manor reminded me of the Sojourn Festival. My hand wrapped around Akos’s, my face itching from blue paint. Chasing him with water cupped in my hands, though it was raining down from above. And the quiet of afterward, when I stripped my blue-stained clothes in my bathroom and realized there was something calm and still inside me that hadn’t been that way since before my mother died. Since he had kissed me in the transport vessel galley, I had thought about what the exact moment was that I fell for him. Now, dragging air into struggling lungs as I ducked around corners and under low ceilings in the tunnels of Noavek manor, I wondered whether I had fallen for him while he was lying to me, making a show of being kind so that I would reveal how to get out of the manor. And if it had been during that time, did that mean I loved someone who didn’t exist? A pretend Akos, like one of the Storyteller’s smoke pictures?
Veronica Roth (The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark, #2))
Lung cancer from smoking and skin cancer from sunbathing are just two issues that magazines notably avoided talking about to avoid upsetting advertisers.
Tansy E. Hoskins (Stitched Up: The Anti-Capitalist Book of Fashion)
2006 UCLA study concluded that not even heavy marijuana use can cause lung cancer. The lead author of the study confessed that the findings were not at all what researchers expected, and that they had found “no association at all [between smoking marijuana and lung cancer] and even some protective effect.”[13]
Paula Mallea (The War on Drugs: A Failed Experiment)
Another quality that comes naturally as you learn to surf is renunciation. Jerry and I had to practice renunciation every day. Because we wanted to surf in the afternoons, we renounced driving our souped-up cars up and down the street in front of Palo Alto High after school where everyone could see us. Jerry renounced smoking so he could keep his lungs in good shape to handle the strong currents and mammoth waves. We even had to renounce hanging out with girls in the afternoons. It wasn’t easy to give up these things that we liked, but we had fallen in love with surfing, so we did it. Renunciation is a matter of putting aside our immediate desires just a little bit so we can stay focused on something bigger. As Jerry and I waited in the water, watching the horizon for a wave big enough to carry us all the way in to shore, we were often tempted to take whatever wave came along. Resisting that temptation was another form of renunciation. Training in renunciation involves seeing our immediate desires as they arise without indulging them. If you indulge a desire, what happens next? Another desire arises. And another and another. The faster you indulge your desires, the faster they come. You’ll never learn to surf if you are distracted by the small waves that constantly lap at your surfboard. After a while, the small steady waves of desire no longer distract you. Eventually, even the surfboard begins to dissolve because you no longer need it. Suddenly, you realize that you are right there in the surf with no gap, no separation between you and the waves, completely immersed in the ocean. Wave by wave is how we stay engaged with life. It is the only way to experience the immediacy and vigor that real life offers. Sure, it’s raw. But we don’t need to protect ourselves from the moods and nuances of life’s great ocean. We can stay right with it, in placid times and in turbulent times. Life is always offering us the energy and vitality we need—just let the salt water seep into your pores.
Tim Burkett (Zen in the Age of Anxiety: Wisdom for Navigating Our Modern Lives)
I was a smoker during the last days of smokers still running the show, really being in charge in many ways. When you can exhale smoke that hovers and floats across the room, it’s unsaid, but clear, that you’re calling a lot of shots. That haze of smoke across the restaurant, or bar, or lobby, or office, or airplane cabin – if you can believe it – it’s part of me, my breath, making its way into your lungs.
Benjamin L. Owen (Quantumnition: Ski Lift Notes Regarding The Observer Effect On Future Streams)
You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs. Your stars have already let you come quite a long way since you left your mother’s womb
Ian Fleming (Live and Let Die (James Bond, #2))
These are the risk factors: chronic depression; eating disorders (anorexia nervosa, bulimia); family history of a first-degree relative with osteoporosis; in men, delayed puberty, diminished libido, erectile dysfunction, low testosterone; in women, late menarche, loss of or irregular menstrual periods, or early menopause (estrogen deficiency); low body weight (less than 127 pounds); maternal history of hip fracture; personal history of fracture related to mild-to-moderate trauma as an adult; poor health; chronic disease of the kidneys, gastrointestinal system, or lungs; sedentary lifestyle; and unhealthy lifestyle (tobacco smoke, excessive alcohol, or poor eating habits).
R. Keith Mccormick (The Whole-Body Approach to Osteoporosis: How to Improve Bone Strength and Reduce Your Fracture Risk (The New Harbinger Whole-Body Healing Series))
When I hear that someone has lung cancer, did he smoke? comes into my head midway between the syllables can and cer. Obviously I don’t say it out loud, but I want to know, because I want to believe that if only my loved ones and I refrain from smoking, we will be ineligible for lung cancer (and, ideally, every other kind of cancer).
Ariel Levy (The Rules Do Not Apply)
I was so close to coming, I gyrated against the air, looking for even a mild current to swirl through the room and break open the cap on my bottled desire. Sensing my desperation, Alexander stepped forward so that the smooth leather of his loafer was pressed tight to my drenched sex. “Fuck yourself hard. Show me how wanton you are just for me.” His strong voice was like the press of a hand around my throat. I watched his smoking grey eyes as I began to hump against his shoe to the time of his thrusts into my mouth. The smell of our sex perfumed the air like a drug I couldn’t help dragging deep into my lungs. I was light-headed, intoxicated by the fierce desire stamped across his face, the way his soul blazed so brightly from his usually opaque pewter-toned eyes. There was no one else in the world for either of us but each other.
Giana Darling (Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet, #2))
You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs.
Ian Fleming (The James Bond Anthology: All 14 Original Books Including Casino Royale, Dr. No and Quantum of Solace)
he laughed when I said I didn’t smoke: ‘I applaud you, Dolly,’ he said, lighting a fag. ‘I applaud your fucking brightness. The thing is, when you start smoking, you think you’ve bought a fun baby dragon. You think you’ve charmed a fabulous beast, as your toy, that will impress all that see it. And then, twenty years later, you wake up with your lungs full of cinder and shite, and the bed on fire, and you realise the dragon grew up – and burned your fucking house down.
Caitlin Moran (How to Build a Girl)
Tobacco fields in the U.S. have been fertilized with the radioactive haillings from uranium mines, resulting in a tremendous increase in the incidence of lip, mouth, throat, and lung cancer. If you do not believe it, just look at the incidence of lung cancer per capita before 1950 and compare it to the lung cancer per capita at the present time. Are those who smoke committing suicide, or are they being murdered?
Milton William Cooper (Behold! a Pale Horse, by William Cooper: Reprint recomposed, illustrated & annotated for coherence & clarity (Public Cache))
It returned to-night, for just a little while-just as long as it takes to smoke two cigarettes. With smoke tickling his lungs, he abstracted himself from the mean and actual world. He drove his mind into the abyss where poetry is written.
George Orwell (Keep the Aspidistra Flying)
She knew it didn’t really relax her. She knew that she was inhaling carbon monoxide which decreased the amount of blood being delivered to her muscles. But for a brief time it felt like relaxation. She drew heavily on the cigarette allowing the smoke to fill her thirteen-year-old lungs, remembering her first attempt and the coughing fit that had followed. She pictured it swirling around like fog in a clean jar. She didn’t want to smoke. She didn’t want to be dependent on cigarettes or anything, but the tablets were no longer having any effect.
Angela Marsons (Dying Truth (D.I. Kim Stone, #8))
Convinced, as Ruth was, despite the one lung, the lip blisters, and the kelodial track across her ribs, that at the end she would regret the cigarettes she hadn’t smoked more than the ones she had.
Lorrie Moore (Birds of America)
Smoking saved me. The chemicals couldn’t get past the charcoal in my lungs.
Lee Goldberg (Fake Truth (Ian Ludlow Thrillers #3))
had general anesthesia (and how many times). General anesthesia combines some toxicity of the anesthetics with what is often imperfect oxygenation, and this can affect brain function. have dental amalgams. These expose you to inorganic mercury. eat high-mercury fish. This exposes you to organic mercury. take certain medications (especially any with brain effects, such as benzodiazepines like Valium, antidepressants, blood pressure pills, statins, proton pump inhibitors, or antihistamines). used street drugs. drink alcohol (and how much). smoke cigarettes. practice good oral hygiene. Poor oral hygiene can contribute to inflammation. have surgical implants (artificial hips or breast implants, for instance). have liver, kidney, lung, or heart disease. snore.
Dale E. Bredesen (The End of Alzheimer's: The First Program to Prevent and Reverse Cognitive Decline)
I ask Dennis whether he has any advice for the people who'll read this book and never again board a plane without wondering if they're going to wind up in a heap of bodies at the emergency exit door. He says it's mostly common sense. Sit near an emergency exit. Get down low, below the heat and smoke. Hold your breath as long as you can, so you don't cook your lungs and inhale poisonous fumes. Shanahan prefers window seats because people seated on the aisle are more likely to get beaned with the suitcases that can come crashing through the overhead bin doors in even a fairly mild impact.
Anonymous
Mitch killer bitch let me tell you this we gon get together real soon and we're gonna pow wow. You and the big bow wow. We gonna do it doggy style. We're going to smoke til there ain't no tomorrow. I'm talking back to back to back to back. We're gonna smoke-olympus. So get your lungs ready and stay on deck cause when I come to town Mitch killer bitch we're gonna blow it down. Real talk. Slow motion with the potion.
Snoop Dogg
I remember my visit to the opencast iron ore mines in Keonjhar, Orissa. There was forest there once. And children like these. Now the land is like a raw, red wound. Red dust fills your nostrils and lungs. The air is red, the water is red, the people are red, their lungs and hair are red. All day and all nights trucks rumble through their villages, bumper to bumper, thousands and thousands of trucks, taking ore to Paradip port from where it will go to China. There it will turn into cars and smoke and sudden cities that spring up overnight. Into a 'growth rate' that leaves economists breathless. Into weapons to make war.
Arundhati Roy
The law of cause and effect is a basic law of life. The Bible calls it the Law of Sowing and Reaping. “You reap whatever you sow. If you sow to your own flesh, you will reap corruption from the flesh; but if you sow to the Spirit, you will reap eternal life from the Spirit” (Gal. 6:7–8 NRSV). When God tells us that we will reap what we sow, he is not punishing us; he’s telling us how things really are. If you smoke cigarettes, you most likely will develop a smoker’s hack, and you may even get lung cancer. If you overspend, you most likely will get calls from creditors, and you may even go hungry because you have no money for food. On the other hand, if you eat right and exercise regularly, you may suffer from fewer colds and bouts with the flu. If you budget wisely, you will have money for the bill collectors and for the grocery store.
Henry Cloud (Boundaries: When To Say Yes, How to Say No)
Not smoking gains in the area of lung cancer, but it loses badly in the realm of dramatic gestures.
Robert B. Parker (The Judas Goat (Spenser, #5))
I don’t want children anyway,” Caz says. “So I am getting nothing out of this whatsoever. I want my entire reproductive system taken out and replaced with spare lungs, for when I start smoking. I want that option. This is pointless.
Caitlin Moran (How To Be A Woman)
Humans are born with two perfectly good lungs, into the only environment in the universe those lungs have evolved over millions of years to breathe in.
Craig Stone (How to Hide from Humans)
Do not assume that a source agrees with a writer when the source summarizes that writer’s line of reasoning. Quote only what a source believes, not its account of someone else’s beliefs, unless that account is relevant. 2.  Record why sources agree, because why they agree can be as important as why they don’t. Two psychologists might agree that teenage drinking is caused by social influences, but one might cite family background, the other peer pressure. 3.  Record the context of a quotation. When you note an important conclusion, record the author’s line of reasoning: Not Bartolli (p. 123): The war was caused … by Z. But    Bartolli: The war was caused by Y and Z (p. 123), but the most important was Z (p. 123), for two reasons: First,… (pp. 124–26); Second,… (p. 126) Even if you care only about a conclusion, you’ll use it more accurately if you record how a writer reached it. 4.  Record the scope and confidence of each statement. Do not make a source seem more certain or expansive than it is. The second sentence below doesn’t report the first fairly or accurately. One study on the perception of risk (Wilson 1988) suggests a correlation between high-stakes gambling and single-parent families. Wilson (1988) says single-parent families cause high-stakes gambling. 5.  Record how a source uses a statement. Note whether it’s an important claim, a minor point, a qualification or concession, and so on. Such distinctions help you avoid mistakes like this: Original by Jones: We cannot conclude that one event causes another because the second follows the first. Nor can statistical correlation prove causation. But no one who has studied the data doubts that smoking is a causal factor in lung cancer. Misleading report: Jones claims “we cannot conclude that one event causes another because the second follows the first. Nor can statistical correlation prove causation.” Therefore, statistical evidence is not a reliable indicator that smoking causes lung cancer.
Kate L. Turabian (A Manual for Writers of Research Papers, Theses, and Dissertations: Chicago Style for Students and Researchers)
Victor’s shadow fell over her and she looked up. She was surprisingly attractive, twenty-eight or — nine, pain in her delicate features, terror in her piercing eyes. She stared at him, gaze pleading, tears spilling down her cheeks, lips he would have liked to kiss, moving but making no sound, not enough air in her lungs to speak, to beg. Or to tell him anything useful. He spared a moment to consider how someone like her could have ended up in this business. But whatever her story had been, it was about to have a depressing end. Her head shook slowly from side to side. The smoking cartridge bounced on the floor tiles.
Tom Wood (The Hunter (Victor the Assassin, #1))
With Q-tips and cotton I cleaned out Elena’s nose, ears, and mouth—a deeply unpleasant task. In the last throes of life, basic hygiene is often ignored. This is reasonable, but reason does not make the aftermath any less abhorrent. In moving the corpse, there is always a chance there may be a sudden burst of “purge”—a frothy, reddish-brown liquid expunged from the lungs and stomach. I did not envy nurses, whose living patients produced these disagreeable fluids every day.
Caitlin Doughty (Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory)
Expecto Patronum!” His voice sounded dim and distant…Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand — he couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn’t work the spell — There was laughter inside his head, shrill, high-pitched laughter….He could smell the dementor’s putrid, death-cold breath, filling his own lungs, drowning him….The dementor’s icy fingers were closing on his throat — the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head — “Bow to death, Harry….It might even be painless….I would not know….I have never died….” He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again — And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath — “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry’s wand; its antlers caught the dementor in the place where the heart would have been; it was thrown backward, weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, the dementor swooped away, batlike and defeated.
J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter, #5))
The point to keep in mind is that you don’t lose fat because you cut calories; you lose fat because you cut out the foods that make you fat—the carbohydrates. If you get down to a weight you like and then add these foods back to the diet, you’ll get fat again. That only some people get fat from eating carbohydrates (just as only some get lung cancer from smoking cigarettes) doesn’t change the fact that if you’re one of those who do, you’ll only lose fat and keep it off if you avoid these foods. This
Gary Taubes (Why We Get Fat: And What to Do About It)
In any disease, say smoking-induced lung or heart disease, organs and tissues are damaged and function in pathological ways. When the brain is diseased, the functions that become pathological are the person’s emotional life, thought processes and behaviour. And this creates addiction’s central dilemma: if recovery is to occur, the brain, the impaired organ of decision making, needs to initiate its own healing process. An altered and dysfunctional brain must decide that it wants to overcome its own dysfunction: to revert to normal — or, perhaps, become normal for the very first time. The worse the addiction is, the greater the brain abnormality and the greater the biological obstacles to opting for health. The scientific literature is nearly unanimous in viewing drug addiction as a chronic brain condition, and this alone ought to discourage anyone from blaming or punishing the sufferer. No one, after all, blames a person suffering from rheumatoid arthritis for having a relapse, since relapse is one of the characteristics of chronic illness. The very concept of choice appears less clear-cut if we understand that the addict’s ability to choose, if not absent, is certainly impaired. “The evidence for addiction as a different state of the brain has important treatment implications,” writes Dr. Charles O’Brien. “Unfortunately,” he adds, “most health care systems continue to treat addiction as an acute disorder, if at all.
Gabor Maté (In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction)
I don’t suppose you’re going to be able to—” She looked around for lurking roommates and leaned in a little closer. “Fuck with that? Especially if it’s broken.” Ryder smiled. “I can fuck with all but a broken dick and even then, I’d give it a red hot try.” He lunged, grabbing her arm and she squealed playfully as he dragged her towards him. “Come and sit in my lap and I’ll show you.
Amy Andrews (Playing With Forever (Sydney Smoke Rugby, #4))
He thought, I know what my idea of heaven would be, if by heaven we mean a place of bliss in which to pass eternity: a sanctuary where one might chain-smoke without impairment of breathing, destruction of the lungs, or damage to the heart, light each fresh cigarette from the glowing butt of its predecessor, and drink ice-free but hundred-proof chilled vodka laced with two drops of angostura and a gill of newly opened Perrier endlessly, with increasing euphoria, until a peak of joy and ease was reached but without any subsequent nausea or pain or dehydration or oblivion…
Barbara Vine (A Fatal Inversion)
An old chinaman - he must have been sixty - shuffled by me hastily with a hop layout and spread it out in a nearby bunk. He was shaking with the yen-yen, the hop habit. His withered, claw-like hands trembled as he feverishly rolled the first pill, a large one. His burning eyes devoured it. Half-cooked, he stuck the pill in its place, and turning his pipe to the lamp, greedily sucked the smoke into his lungs. Now, with a long grateful exhalation, the smoke is discharged. The cramped limbs relax and straighten out. The smoker heaves a sigh of satisfaction, and the hands, no longer shaking, turn with surer touch to another pill. This is smaller, rolled and shaped with more care, better cooked and inhaled with a long, slaw draw. Each succeeding pill is smaller, more carefully browned over the lamp and smoked with increasing pleasure.
Jack Black (You Can't Win)
... Blood pounded inside his skull. The pounding became more distinct. A thundering and a racing of hoofs, rising like a storm over the hills to the north. The triumphant baying of the Saxon war-horns was echoed by others, more distant. These were higher, shriller, the prelude to the storm. Cavalry bugles. Bedwyr's lungs were full of smoke and blood, else he would have laughed. The dragon had come at last.
David Pilling (Artorius (Leader of Battles #2))
Smoke hung heavy in the air. Will’s eyes stung. His throat. His nose. And the crackling. God, the crackling fire was like the devil laughing. Vera was in that house. Mikey gripped his arm. “Hold on, Will—” Will lunged forward. “Vera—” “Whoa, Will.” Mikey’s grip tightened. “Stop.” “The hell I will. Vera—” “Billy?” One of the cops approached him. Said a bunch of words. Helped Mikey hold Will back. Vera was in that house. Vera, her trusty wooden body, her frets, her new strings. Vera, who’d had his back everywhere from Pickleberry Springs to Nashville to New York to LA, from seedy bars to stadiums. Vera, who’d helped him write his first song. His last song. Every song in between.
Jamie Farrell (Matched (Misfit Brides, #2))
It feels like a door opening, and lungfuls of fresh air rushing in.
Laini Taylor (Night of Cake & Puppets (Daughter of Smoke & Bone, #2.5))
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For five hundred years my sisterhood has passed down a sacred vow,” says Caspida coldly, “to destroy the one who destroyed our queen. You know this, and you speak these words only to deceive me as you deceived her. You would have me believe that you are capable of love.” “Believe me when I say I wish that I were not!” Angrily I round on her. “I do not tell you this for myself! Aladdin will die any moment, and the only way to save him is if you make a wish! Please, Caspida—they will kill him at dawn!” I point at the horizon, where the sun is minutes away from rising. “Let me save him, I beg you!” I drop to my knees before her, doing what I never thought I could: grovel before a human. My pride unravels into smoke, carried away on the wind. Always I have thought myself above these mortals—I, immortal, powerful, able to shift from this form to that. But I let all of that go now, and I beg as I have never begged before. “Do what you like with me after that, but just let me save him!” I dig my fingers into the earth, my eyes damp with tears. My voice falls to a cracked whisper. “Please.” “Why?” I raise my face, finding her gaze unyielding. “Because it was my idea. Him wishing to be made a prince. Courting you. Lying all these weeks. I manipulated him and used him, and now they will kill him for it.” “Why would you lead him into the palace knowing that eventually the truth would come out and he would have to pay the price?” “Because . . .” I grind my teeth together, wishing the earth would swallow me up. “Because I was trying to win my freedom. Your people had captured the prince of the jinn—Nardukha’s own son. The Shaitan sent me to free him, and in turn, he would free me from my lamp. If I failed, he planned to sink your city into the sea. I had to get into the palace. Aladdin was my only way in.” “So you don’t deny that you’re a monster. You used him for your own ends.” I drop my head. “I know what I am. I know nothing can excuse what I did to Roshana, or to Aladdin, or to you. I’ve wronged so many, and there is so much I wish I could take back. I can’t save Roshana. But please—I beg of you—let me save him.” Caspida lowers to her knees and studies me. I meet her gaze, humbled utterly. “You want me to believe that you love him,” she whispers. “Yes.” The word is but a breath, a stir of air in my treacherous lungs. “We’re running out of time. I cannot reverse death or the hours. Time is the strongest magic, and no jinni—not even the Shaitan—can rewrite the past. Once Aladdin is gone, he is gone. Let me save him, and I can help you win your city.
Jessica Khoury (The Forbidden Wish)
It had started snowing, a thick wet layer of slush that won't stick. There are no cars on the road, nothing but big white flakes falling onto our faces, erasing the buildings around us, and the low swish of our feet on the road as we try to keep our footing, a soft wheeze humming from the bottom of my lungs from too much smoking. In the middle of Nation Road, Mazzie turns to me without any warning. She grabs my arm and we both fall down, and then we're sitting there in the middle of the bare road, and for a few seconds we just sit there, quite, listening to the eerie silent noise of snow falling against land. Snow covers Mazzie's eyelashes, making her look like a tiny ice princess– the closest she will ever come to wearing makeup. "You look pretty," I say. "Shut up.
Jessica Warman (Breathless)
I like its eyes: two black dots, nonreflective light-trappers. Utterly determined eyes, doubt-free, unselfconscious. Frightening eyes if they happen to be looking at you and you’re small enough to be dinner. The same eyes a man probably sees on an alligator before it drags him down and shakes the air out of his lungs and leaves him to rot a little in the murk, to be tenderized properly before he becomes a meal.
Mohsin Hamid (Moth Smoke)
Despite Carson’s warnings in Silent Spring, studies in Europe, Canada, and the United States showed that DDT didn’t cause liver disease, premature births, congenital defects, leukemia, or any of the other diseases she had claimed. Indeed, the only type of cancer that had increased in the United States during the DDT era was lung cancer, which was caused by cigarette smoking. DDT was arguably the safest insect repellent ever invented—far safer than many of the other pesticides that have since taken its place.
Paul A. Offit (Pandora's Lab: Seven Stories of Science Gone Wrong)
I don’t smoke, but hey, I’m banking that lung cancer won’t be what kills me, at this point.
Jay Zano (Z Towers: An Apocalyptic Plague: MADE IN THE U.S.A.)
And why is there a label on cigarette packs warning, “Smoking may cause lung cancer,” but there are no labels on whiskey bottles stating, “Booze may be hazardous to your relationships?” Why aren’t there labels on McDonald’s hamburgers, or on tuna fish cans? Tuna fish may kill you.
Lenny Ravich (Everlasting Optimism: 9 Principles for Success, Happiness and Powerful Relationships)
[...] I kept thinking we were trapped in hell. Infernal, lung-curdling smoke? Check. Eardrum-bursting, satanic thunder? Check. Multitudes of shrieking imps? Check. [...] I had the gut feeling I was trapped there eternally, back behind First Baptist's aluminum-sided temple.
Julia Elliott (The New and Improved Romie Futch)
Perhaps the public would be better served by reframing the issue of media violence in terms of public health, where we seldom speak of causality (even with smoking and lung cancer) because of the variability among individuals and the nature of their exposures, but rather of alterations in “relative risk.
Douglas A. Gentile (Media Violence and Children: A Complete Guide for Parents and Professionals (Advances in Applied Developmental Psychology))
Moving with infinite reluctance, Westcliff gingerly put his arms around her. The escalation of Lillian’s heartbeat seemed to drive the air from her lungs. One of his broad hands settled between her tense shoulder blades, while the other pressed at the small of her back. He touched her with undue care, as if she were made of some volatile substance. And as he brought her body gently against his, her blood turned to liquid fire. Her hands fluttered in search of a resting place until her palms grazed the back of his coat. Flattening her palms on either side of his spine, she felt the flex of hard muscle even through the layers of silk-lined broadcloth and linen. “Is this what you were asking for?” he murmured, his low voice at her ear. Lillian’s toes curled inside her slippers as his hot breath tickled her hairline. She responded with a wordless nod, feeling crestfallen and mortified as she realized that she had lost her gamble. Westcliff was going to show her how easy it was to release her, and then he would forever afterward subject her to ruthless mockery. “You can let me go now,” she whispered, her mouth twisting in self-derision. But Westcliff didn’t move. His dark head dropped a little lower, and he drew in a breath that wasn’t quite steady. Lillian perceived that he was taking in the scent of her throat…absorbing it with slow but ever-increasing greed, as if he were an addict inhaling lungfuls of narcotic smoke. The perfume, she thought in bemusement. So it hadn’t been her imagination. It was working its magic again. But why did Westcliff seem to be the only man to respond to it? Why— Her thoughts were scattered as the pressure of his hands increased, causing her to shiver and arch. “Damn it,” Westcliff whispered savagely. Before she quite knew what was happening, he had pushed her up against a nearby wall. His fiercely accusing gaze moved from her dazed eyes to her parted lips, his silent struggle lasting another burning second, until he suddenly gave in with a curse and brought their mouths together with an impatient tug.
Lisa Kleypas (It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2))
It was the feel of the cigarette between his fingers he wanted, the sharp intake of tobacco smoke into the lungs, not some slow oozing of poison through his skin into his blood. Pity about the health problems. He felt rather like St. Augustine must have felt when he wrote in his Confessions: “Give me chastity and continency—but not yet!
Peter Robinson (Final Account (Inspector Banks, #7))
And your man Robert and his friends are going to do that?” I glanced at one of the men nearby, the one still smoking a cigarette. “Is he going to be able to do anything before he coughs up a lung?
Steve McHugh (Prison of Hope (Hellequin Chronicles, #4))
Remember how once, just once, you scored the best dope in the world? Remember how you smoked till your mouth and your throat were all sandpaper and your lungs thought you’d gone down on a fireplace? Remember how you put on your headphones—took three tries, didn’t it?—and cranked Dark Side of the Moon or “The Ride of the Valkyries” or whatever most got you off all the way up to eleven, man? Remember what it was like?
Rich Horton (The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy 2014 Edition)
Smoking five marijuana cigarettes is equal to smoking a full pack of tobacco cigarettes, according to the American Lung Association.
Frances E. Jensen (The Teenage Brain: A Neuroscientist's Survival Guide to Raising Adolescents and Young Adults)
DARE Rap When you SMOKE It’s no JOKE Smoking turns lungs BLACK And causes you to HACK If you go ahead and SMOKE You are going to CROAK If you smoke POT Your brain will ROT When you drink BEER You can’t think CLEAR When you drink BOOZE Your brain will SNOOZE If you take a DRUG You turn into a SLUG When you get HIGH You might try to FLY And you will DIE So if you go to a PARTY Be a SMARTY! Listen to my VOICE Make the right CHOICE If you never drink and DRIVE You have a good chance of staying ALIVE. Shelly Merkes, age 12
Jack Canfield (Chicken Soup for the Kid's Soul: Stories of Courage, Hope and Laughter for Kids ages 8-12 (Chicken Soup for the Soul))
Of the processes that alter environments to cause evolutionary mismatches, the most common and powerful occur because of cultural evolution. Technological and economic changes over the last few generations have altered the infectious diseases we contract, the foods we eat, the drugs we take, the work we do, the pollutants we ingest, how much energy we spend and consume, the social stresses we experience, and more. Many of these changes have been beneficial, but as the following chapters will outline we are poorly or insufficiently adapted to handle others, contributing to disease. A common characteristic of these diseases, moreover, is that they occur from interactions whose cause and effect are not immediate or otherwise obvious. It takes many years for pollution to cause some illnesses (most lung cancers develop decades after people begin smoking), and when you’ve been bitten thousands of times by mosquitoes and fleas, it can be hard to realize that
Daniel E. Lieberman (The Story of the Human Body: Evolution, Health and Disease)
Back in those days I was stoned almost twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The difference today is that there is nothing you or anyone else could say to persuade me to inhale enough even to fill a flea’s lung with cannabis. It’s actually impossible to measure how fantastic I feel.
Chris Sullivan (The Joy of Quitting Cannabis: Freedom From Marijuana)
Stewart unfolded the oilcloth that kept his Bible dry and began reading. Ross reached into his pocket and brought out his tobacco pouch. He removed his rolling papers and found them sodden as Snipes’ newspaper. Henryson, who also was anticipating a cigarette, found his papers in the same condition. “I was at least hoping my lungs might be warm and dry a minute,” Ross complained. “You’d think there’d be one little pleasure you could have, even on a day scawmy as this one,” Henryson said. “You ain’t got no rolling papers, do you Stewart?” Stewart shook his head, not raising it from his Bible. “How about a few pages of your Bible there?” Ross asked. “That’d make a right fine rolling paper.” Stewart looked up incredulously. “It’d be sacrilegious do such a thing as that.” “I ain’t asking for pages where something important’s being said,” Ross entreated. “I’m just asking for two pages where there’s nothing but a bunch of so and so begot so and so. There ain’t nothing to be missed there.” “It still don’t seem right to me,” Stewart said. “I’d say it’s exactly the Christian thing to do,” Henryson countered, “helping out two miserable fellows who just want a smoke.” Stewart turned to Snipes. “What do you think?” “Well,” Snipes said. “Your leading scholars has argued for years you’ll find cause to do or not do most anything in that book, so I’m of a mind you got to pluck out the verse what trumps the rest of them.” “But which one’s that?” Stewart asked. “How about love thy neighbor,” Henryson quickly volunteered. Stewart bit his lower lip, deep in thought. Almost a minute passed before he opened the Bible and turned to Genesis. Stewart perused some pages before carefully tearing out two.
Ron Rash (Serena)
Small-cell lung cancer, aged sixty-seven, bham! You know, I've tried smoking, I've tried not smoking. I've tried clean living, and every time I get the same fucking disease. I asked a medic once why that should be, and you know what she said? 'Hey, stuff just happens.' I mean, fuck me.
Claire North
The blackguard had probably shot Victor, or worse, Dom! And he was getting away! Not on her watch, he wasn’t. She didn’t stop to think. As he came abreast of the carriage, she swung the door of the carriage open, directly into his path. It knocked him right off his feet. As he lay there, stunned, she leaped out and marched over to him. A red haze filled her vision at the thought of everything he’d done, and she dug the heel of her half boot into the wrist of the hand holding the gun. As Samuel let out a howl, she wrenched the pistol from his hand. Then she backed up and aimed it at him, praying she could pull the trigger if she had to. Not that she was likely to hit anything if she did; she’d never shot a firearm in her life. But he was not escaping, drat it. Samuel stumbled to his feet, then blanched. “Jane!” “Yes, it’s Jane, you…you…vile…horrible…arse!” “Give me the gun, Jane,” he said hoarsely, fixing his gaze on it. “You don’t want to be playing with that.” With her blood beating a fearful tattoo through her veins, she steadied the pistol in the general direction of his heart. Though she could think of better places to shoot him, frankly. “I’m not playing. And you’re not going anywhere.” Samuel lunged at her, and the pistol went off. Which was odd, because she couldn’t remember pulling the trigger. But she must have, because smoke came out of the end of the pistol and he cried out and dropped to the ground at her feet, grabbing his thigh. As Samuel rolled there, clutching at his leg and howling, Victor skidded to a halt beside him. “Good shot, Jane!” The grin he flashed her reminded her instantly of Max. “I saw you hit him with the carriage door, too. Excellent work. We’ll have to make you an honorary Duke’s Man.” “Over my dead body,” Dom growled as he ran up beside her.
Sabrina Jeffries (If the Viscount Falls (The Duke's Men, #4))
As smoking is to the lungs, so is resentment to the soul; even one puff of it is bad for you. I
Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)
Noah was a funeral pyre. He was burning. The flames rose to staggering heights and blazed in white, hot tongues. Jeremie had once told him a story of the burial rites of the Norse. They’d burn their dead, believing the high smoke carried their loved ones’ souls to Valhalla. Noah was beyond Valhalla. Beyond the creamy spaciousness above the clouds, beyond the limits of the very earth. He floated among the stars, joined them in holy communion, knew each one by name. Then they were within him, scores of them, bright and hot, turning his ribs into a furnace as they shifted and created constellations in his soul. And all the while, the summer sang in his lungs. There was no space between him and Jeremie. Where one ended, the other began, and still Jeremie pulled him closer like the moon pulls the tide, gripping him tightly in the same way he’d gripped Noah’s heart, had gripped his entire being.
Lily O. Velez (Lavender in Bloom)
A scraping sound across the room startled her. Jake emerged from the fireplace grate. Soot covered his hands and streaked his cheek. “Want to come look?” Her mind still on the message from the teacher, she approached the fireplace. Jake made room on the hearth. “See these cracks? Crumbling mortar, loose stone. Feel this.” He reached for a river rock, and she touched it. He placed his hand over hers and wobbled the rock, but she barely felt the movement for the jolt that went through her at his touch. She jerked her hand away. His eyes scanned her face, which grew warmer by the second. She studied the blackened rocks as if mesmerized by them. “So the, uh, loosened rocks caused it to smoke?” Was that her squeaky voice? “Right.” She still felt his touch on her hand, though it was now cradled safely in her lap. She ran her other palm over it and felt the protrusion of her ring. Stephen. Wonderful, steady Stephen. She still felt Jake watching her. She was probably glowing like hot coals by now. Confound it. “So, you can, uh, patch it or something?” “Or something.” She wondered if the amusement in his tone was caused by her question or the fact that she’d ripped her hand away as if he’d jabbed her with a poker. She flickered a glance at him, but it stuck and held. The amusement slid slowly from his face, replaced by something else. Something that made her stomach feel as if it contained a batch of quickly rising dough. You just had to look. Heat radiated off his arm, inches away, and flowed over her skin. She could smell the faint scent of pine and musk. She looked away. Told her heart to stay put. Deep breaths. She sucked in a lungful of his woodsy scent. Ix-nay on the eath-bray. Meridith jumped to her feet and put distance between them. Jake cleared his throat, then leaned into the grate. “Don’t see any daylight.” Back to business. “That’s good, right?” “Not if you want to use this thing. Flue’s blocked. Debris or bird’s nest, could be anything.” “You can fix it?” He pulled out of the grate, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Sure.” Meridith hated how unsettled she felt around him. And the faulty fireplace only prolonged his presence. Why did he have to make her feel this way? Why did she have to keep reminding herself this was business? “Can
Denise Hunter (Driftwood Lane (Nantucket, #4))
If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. 안전한 배송 서비스 수능때 한번쯤 복용해볼수있는 약 콘서타 페니드 애더럴 정품으로 판매하고있습니다 몸짱키우시고 싶으신분들 계시면 연락주세요 럭셔리한 몸짱 키워드리겠습니다 카톡【AKR331】라인【SPR331】위커【SPR705】텔레【GEM705】 신뢰성있는 업체 입니다. 회원가입이 필요 없습니다 고객님들의 개인정보는 중요합니다. 그렇기에 Mobile & desktop 등에서 손쉽게 터치, 클릭 몇번만으로 쉽게 물건 구입이 가능합니다. 마지막으로 대한민국 어디에도 없는 최저가격 보상제도를 실시 하고있습니다. 100% 정품 지금까지 단 한번도 가품에 대한 구설수에 오른적 없습니다. 그렇기에 믿고 구매하셔도 됩니다. 해당 제품에 부여되는 고유식별번호로 한국릴리 & 화아자코리아에서 정품까지 인증이 가능한 믿을수 있는 제품들로 구성되어 있으니 안심하셔도 됩니다. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.” But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. 콘서타구입하는곳,아나볼릭스테로이드구입,스테로이드판매,스테로이드구매,스테로이드가격,스테로이드효과,콘서타구매,콘서타판매,콘서타가격,콘서타효과 But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.
정품약판매처,카톡【AKR331】라인【SPR331】정품제품팝니다
Come to California...and breathe the toxic smoke!
Steven Magee
I associate California with smoke inhalation.
Steven Magee
Yaxin made another lunge for me, but I met him with a haymaker that sent him on his back to the floor. Then I reached for the revolver I always kept strapped to my hip. Momentarily distracted, I had missed the burly trader next to me as he swung a chair at my head. I only noticed when a shot rang out, the chair fell to the ground, and the trader fell back. He groaned in pain and clutched his blood-stained shoulder. “Who’s the bitch now, bitch?” Cayla smirked as she cocked her smoking revolver.
Éric Vall (Metal Mage 3 (Metal Mage, #3))