Two great European narcotics, alcohol and Christianity.
I did it to myself. It wasn't society... it wasn't a pusher, it wasn't being blind or being black or being poor. It was all my doing.
To my purist trout fishing friends, bass are lowly green fish and brown fish. To me, bass are bent rods and aching arms. To my ex-wife, bass are the bewilderment of addiction.
Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine or idealism.
I used to think there was light at the end of the tunnel, but for me today the light is on a locomotive headed right for me.
Cocaine isn't habit-forming. I should know - I've been using it for years.
I feel that any form of so called psychotherapy is strongly contraindicated for addicts. The question ''Why did you start using narcotics in the first place?'' should never be asked. It is quite as irrelevant to treatment as it would be to ask a malarial patient why he went to a malarial area.
In this country, don't forget, a habit is no damn private hell. There's no solitary confinement outside of jail. habit is hell for those you love.nd in this country it's the worst kind of hell for those who love you.
It is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end.
If an addict who has been completely cured starts smoking again he no longer experiences the discomfort of his first addiction. There exists, therefore, outside alkaloids and habit, a sense for opium, an intangible habit which lives on, despite the recasting of the organism. The dead drug leaves a ghost behind.t certain hours it haunts the house.
I feel that any form of so called psychotherapy is strongly contraindicated for addicts. The question, 'Why did you start using narcotics in the first place?' should never be asked. It is quite as irrelevant to treatment as it would be to ask a malarial patient why he went to a malarial area.
All sin tends to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is what is called damnation.
It is an addiction -- like gambling, like smoking, like anything and if it is in your blood and it is my own club, I need to invest.
She goes from one addiction to another. All are ways for her to not feel her feelings.
It's about avoiding reality through various escape routes that become addictions and lead to Hell. My character is addicted to television, chocolate, coffee, to her dream of her son, which has no basis in reality.
To possess your soul in patience, with all the skin and some of the flesh burnt off your face and hands, is a job for a boy compared with the pains of a man who has lived pretty long in the exhilarating world that drugs or strong waters seem to create and is trying to live now in the first bald desolation created by knocking them off.
My case is a species of madness, only that it is a derangement of the Volition, and not of the intellectual faculties.
If an addict who has been completely cured starts smoking again he no longer experiences the discomfort of his first addiction. There exists, therefore, outside alkaloids and habit, a sense for opium, an intangible habit which lives on, despite the recasting of the organism. The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house.
It is not heroin or cocaine that makes one an addict, it is the need to escape from a harsh reality. There are more television addicts, more baseball and football addicts, more movie addicts, and certainly more alcohol addicts in this country than there are narcotics addicts.
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I knew her better than herself …and she was beautiful and strong and felt deep. It has always surprised me to see the way she saw herself; how little she thought about her person. It struck me as surprising because every single time I’ve seen her, I’ve thought her larger than life. And that’s why the world feared her. Because they couldn’t compare to her; she raised a new bar for others to be measured by. Because looking at the sun hurts…and she was that to me. My own piece of sky.
Aisha…is it wrong of me to wish you to break a leg? Into many tiny, little pieces? And when or if it heals…would it be too much to hope it ends up looking in the wrong direction…like backwards? Because I truly do. From the bottom of my little, black heart.” She crossed her fingers over said thing.