“Ya got cigarettes?” she asks. “Yes,” I say,
“I got cigarettes.” “Matches?” she asks.
“Enough to burn Rome.” “Whiskey?”
“Enough whiskey for a Mississippi River
of pain.” “You drunk?” “Not yet.”

“I wish to live to 150 years old, but the day I die, I wish it to be with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.”

“She's got the brown eyes, yeah, and they're pretty as hell,
And they'll burn through your shirt if you're holding her still.
She's got a lighter, and a lit cigarette,
And if you're making her smile, that's just as high as you can get.”

“I can ask for cigarettes in every language”

“I know some who are constantly drunk on books as other men are drunk on whiskey.”

“It ain't like midnight and cigarette smoke.
It ain't like watered down whiskey and coke.
I guess some things just don't mix like you hope.
Like me and you.
And diamond rings and old barstools.”

“[when asked about cigarettes] I don't recommend them… but I smoke them.”

“Too much of anything is bad, but too much good whiskey is barely enough.”

“Or me lying in the… Let me tell ya… Lying in bed the next day, she brought me cafe au lait, she gives me a cigarette. My balls feel like concrete. Eh?”

“You're drunk, and I'm drunk, and I'm just exactly drunk enough to tell you anything you want to know. That's the kind of girl I am. If I like a person, I'll tell them anything they want to know. Just ask me. Go ahead, ask me.”