Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Huffs. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Huffs Quotes And Sayings by 97 Authors including G.a. Aiken,J.l. Merrow,Bob Dylan,Kim Harrison,Jennifer Lynn Barnes for you to enjoy and share.
I don't like this," his brother told him as they walked down the stairs.
"You don't like anything. I've heard you complain about the air."
"It irritates me when it whistles.
Excrement, meet air-moving device.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you open your mouth.
Have you been sniffing fairy farts?
Oh God. I'm jealous of farts.
I've been smoking a lot
and starting to doubt
if I'm breathing you in
or smoking you out.
p.i.a.: puke inducing actions.
An ill winde that bloweth no man to good.
You cover Q-tips with sandpaper and ram them up your nostrils
as far as they will go. Then you sniff talcum powder while shredding
hundred dollar bills.
A most malicious cough
Repooping is the purest form of pooping
Farts are just the ghosts of the things we ate.
I can't bear the smell of cigars, can you?" said Lady Partridge.
"Lionel hates it too," murmured Rachel. As did Nick, to whom the dry lavatorial stench of cigars signified the inexplicable confidence of other men's tastes and habits, and their readiness to impose them on their fellows.
His breath is so bad why every time he smokes he blows onion rings.
You ain't heard that we swallow guys?
Worriers spend a lot of time shoveling smoke.
Whistle through your teeth and spit cuz, it's Alright
The longer I live, the more I am convinced that the apothecary is of more importance than Seneca; and that half the unhappiness in the world proceeds from little stoppages; from a duct choked up, from food pressing in the wrong place, from a vexed duodenum, or an agitated pylorus.
Smoke.. makes a kitchen also oftentimes in the inward parts of men, soiling and infecting them, with an unctuous and oily kinde of Soote as hath been found in some great Tobacco takers, that after their death were opened.
He brings the cigarette butt to his mouth and lights up. He breathes in, and coughs; a rattling helicopter with a broken blade crashing into a herd of trombone playing sheep falling off a cliff into a DIY shop with a discount on spanners.
Be careful what you swallow. Chew!
Vomit and shit, even your own, stink.
Sips fuel like a mouse sipping sherry from a hypodermic needle.
Shoveling food into his mouth. Thoughts came fluently, cogently:
You make me forget how to breathe.
Smoke 'em if you got 'em.
No, no, no, I don't snort no more, I'm tired of waking up on the floor. No thank you please, it only makes me sneeze, then it makes it hard to find the door.
Smell shit when one's bragging.
I laugh, and it sounds like I've been sucking helium.
In one breath, I release all negative feelings and fearful thoughts, then fill up my lungs with wonder and awe and pure, unadulterated joy.
I was a smoker for years. Occasionally I slip and have a cigarette. Remarkably, my voice has held up. I'm grateful, obviously. But I don't gargle with honey and ground-up bird eggs. I have no secrets.
Thomas didn't have to think. He reached out and took the cup, poured the liquid in his mouth, swallowed all of it at once. It burned like fire, searing his throat and chest as it went down; he broke into a lurching, wracking cough.
Why do you want to put more smoke inside of you?
My mother inhaled.
When there is nothing else to say, I go for a smoke
What he hates about whisky hangovers, he thinks now, is the synthesis they achieve between the spiritual and the gastric, as if your soul needs to throw up or your stomach has realised life is meaningless.
I take a breath when I have to.
Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils.
Sometimes you have to swallow the unswallowable
A family who smokes together, chokes together.
Hunches are not to be sneezed at.
Have a drink, Coughffles."
"Stop it with the names!" I laughed and coughed.
I can't breathe.
Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance,
Admire the moments
Discuss the late events,
Correct our watches by the public clocks.
Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks.
Write what will stop your breath if you don't write.
bloweth where it listeth,
We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor ...
When I say this, it should mean laughter,
not poison.
He rarely smoked, but once in a while, like now, when his world had been shaken, his woman nearly killed in front of his eyes, and he'd watched a house consume a man and spit him out, he figured a drag or two were appropriate.
I smoke a brown pipe like the breast of a little negress.
I'm going to shit in your lungs for this.
Fart for freedom, fart for liberty - and fart proudly.
This blessed gift of smoking!
slanderous diarrhea of the mouth.
Tis an ill wind that blows no minds
The winds that never moderation knew,
Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew;
Or out of breath with joy, could not enlarge
Their straighten'd lungs or conscious of their charge.
The honied tongue hath its poison.
More than one cigar at a time is excessive smoking.
Once-ler! You're making such smogulous smoke - my poor swomee swans, why they can't sing a note! No one can sing who has smog in his throat.
a certain stink on a certain kind of soul, a foul scent of hateful smallness too often thwarted . . . then given an ounce of power.
The smell of life." "The smell of farts.
The ill that comes out of our mouth falles into our bosome.
A club there is of smokers
dare you come
To that close, clouded, hot, narcotic room?
When, midnight past, the very candles seem
Dying for air, and give a ghastly gleam;
When curling fumes in lazy wreaths arise,
And prosing topers rub their winking eyes.
Your breath upon the wind shall surely lodge within some breast. Ask not whose breast it is. See only that the breath itself be pure.
You make it so hard to breathe.
It is difficult to whistle and drink at the same time.
A cough so robust that I tapped into two new seams of phlegm.
C'mon on down to the Whiff and Spit; snuff it up and cough it out, Lewis chanted, giving it a catchy rhythem.
It's when you hide things that you choke on them.
My headshot is a scratch and sniff, it smells like failure and onions.
My husband would probably like you to know that, for the sake of my research for this chapter, he has had to put up with an awful lot of contemptuous snorting.
One swallow alone does not make a summer.
All this talking all the time, and the air fills up until there's nothing left to breathe.
my stomach holds at least a thousand hours' worth of swallowed sentences, but these days they want out.
I sighed and blew
They had just digested a recent meal of prepositions and were happily farting out apostrophes and ampersands; the air was heav'y with th'em&.
In a long journey straw waighs.
Which one worse: armpits or breath? Surely, the latter; but the unwashed inferno of his crotch and ass stank worst of all. "Y'all
Ought they to smoke like that?
Flatulence peaks twice a day ... five hours after lunch and five hours after dinner.
- It's gas but, isn't it? How we get suckered in. Some prick in a white coat says if you eat all o' your peas Gina Lollobrigida will sit on your face.
Laugh a lot. It clears the lungs.
The odor of bowel wind is known to every human, but the fragrance of book glue has crossed only a fraction of mortal nostrils. And yet it behooves us not to judge the unlettered too harshly. We must stay the impulse to write CHUCKLEHEAD above their doors and carve DOLT upon their tombstones.
I have inhaled, exhaled everything.
Ods me I marle what pleasure or felicity they have in taking their roguish tobacco. It is good for nothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke and embers.
Don't worry, I didn't take a hit off Rupert K.'s inhaler. I wasn't that sick.
I only pressed the mouthpiece against my lips.
Plum puffs can't minister to a mind diseased or a world that's crumbling to pieces
When they coughed, they coughed like people accustomed to be forgotten on doorsteps and in draughty passages, waiting for answers to letters in faded ink ...
Your toaster's a puff.
Beware of spitting against the wind!
I can't find my breath.
Spare your breath to cool your porridge.
Smokers, male and female, inject and excuse idleness in their lives every time they light a cigarette.
When I was a kid I inhaled frequently. That was the point.
keep your breath to cool your porridge
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.
Kind pity chokes my spleen.
I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
My lungs are thick with the smoke of your absence.
Whether you sniff it smoke it eat it or shove it up your ass the result is the same: addiction.
As you see in a pair of bellows, there is a forced breath without life, so in those that are puffed up with the wind of ostentation, there may be charitable words without works.