Quotes & Sayings About Smoke Rings

There's a lady who's sure
All that glitters is gold.
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
And when she gets there she knows
If the stores are closed.
With a word she can get what she came for.
There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure.
Cause you know sometimes words have
Two meanings.
In a tree by the brook there's a songbird
Who sings sometimes.
All of our thoughts are misgiven.
There's a feeling I get when I look
To the West.
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke
Through the trees.
And the voices of those who stand looking. — Led Zeppelin

When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness - I am nothing. — Virginia Woolf

In the darkest corner of a darkened room, all Sherlock Homes stories begin. In the pregnant dim of gaslight and smoke, Holmes would sit, digesting the day's papers, puffing on his long pipe, injecting himself with cocaine. He would pop smoke rings into the gloom, waiting for something, anything, to pierce into the belly of his study and release the promise of adventure; of clues to interpret; of, at last he would plead, a puzzle he could not solve. And after each story he would return here, into the dark room, and die day by day of boredom. The darkness of his study was his cage, but also the womb of his genius. — Graham Moore

In the past, some people exist in pictures, some in words. I smile as among the photos I catch a glimpse of the black-haired, black-eyed boy who came as close as was possible, after you, to breaking my heart. He is best remembered as a visual: his smile, unbuttoned shirt, his tan. His words, pretty as they were, dissolved like the smoke rings he blew around them. — Joanna Barnard

Our knowledge of physics only takes us back so far. Before this instant of cosmic time, all the laws of physics or chemistry are as evanescent as rings of smoke. — Joseph Silk

Take me disappearing, through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time ... — Bob Dylan

We smoked fat cigars by the campfire and they tasted like wood and ash. The inhale and exhale was exciting. Blowing smoke rings in the calm forest air was followed by a deep swallow of cheap beer, and this too was exciting. There was no judgment in the wild, and so indulgences were plentiful. There were no regulators here and we were free to indulge in the deep intoxications that made our minds free. — Daniel J. Rice

Beginning with Bilbo's unexpected party in chapter 1 with its tea, seed-cakes, buttered scones, apple-tarts, mince-pies, cheese, eggs, cold chicken, pickles, beer, coffee, and smoke rings, we find that a reverence, celebration, and love of the everyday is an essential part of Tolkien's moral vision — Devin Brown

Sometimes we'd sit on that bench for hours, talking about nothing much and blowing smoke rings into the air, and we'd see them teetering past, stumble-drunk after closing time with their brown paper bags and late night vinegar running down their arms and the lack of kindness everywhere. And the girls, panda-eyed and lonely, hitching their bravado to their short skirts, were telling themselves that this was living. We said we would never be them. But there was one boy who had kind eyes. His hair was the colour of the sand and his smile promised everything. I told you he wasn't like the rest, but you didn't want to hear it. — Maire T. Robinson

There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who standing looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder. — Led Zeppelin

I tell you, old friend, I'd rather be stuck here in a Strander burrow than blowing smoke rings in Glipwood, where the Fangs spit and howl and kill our spirits. At least we're here because we choose to be. We're here out of bravery and not cowardice. — Andrew Peterson

I was already well acquainted with the splendors of her mouth. Smoking is good for that. You get a full display of the puckering, and the sucking. The tongue often makes an appearance, licking from the lips any stickiness imparted by the filter. Sometimes bits of paper adhere to the bottom lip and the smoker, pulling them away, reveals the candied lower teeth against the pulpy gums. And if the smoker is a blower of smoke rings, you get to see all the way in to the dark velvet of the inner cheeks. — Jeffrey Eugenides

The rabbit is one of the few animals that (de facto) enjoys screwing: after copulating it does a backward flip and drums on the ground. If it could light up a fag, it would no doubt do that too, and blow smoke rings into the sky. — Peter Zilahy

I had my first cigarette when I was five," he says, making rings of smoke. "With my mother. — Steen Langstrup

Tori, are you smoking crack or something?"

The bell rings and she cocks her head. It's a mannerism that is so completely Tori, nonchalantly says to me, "To be coninued, once again. And no, Charlie, I do not smoke crack, I snort it."

I look at her like she is the crazy one and burst out laughing. "Gotcha!" she says as we part ways and head to class. — Heather Gunter

Illugastadir, the farm by the sea, where the soft air rings with the clang of the smithy, and gulls caw, and seals roll over in their fat. Illugastadir, where the night is lit by fire, where smoke turns in the early morning to engulf the stars, and in ruins, always Illugastadir, cradling dead bodies in its cage of burnt beams. — Hannah Kent

Bandar had effortlessly converted Ratiram's grit into the smoke rings that he blew triumphantly in the air. — Pawan Mishra

Smoke and mirrors' is a useful metaphor for the ways in which organised abuse has chided conceptualisation and understanding. The chapter provides an overview of cite often incendiary debates over organised abuse before going on to suggest that critical theories on gender, crime and intersubjectivity may offer new insights into the phenomenon. — Michael Salter

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow. — Bob Dylan