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An ode to the power of nicotine, by the Scottish novelist and dramatist, best known for inventing the character of Peter Pan. My Lady Nicotine is one of his earlier works. Focusing on his days as a smoker, J. M. Barrie takes us through his life as a smoker to his last pipe as he begins his non-smoking days. Barrie's humorous essays about his companions, habits and quitting are sure to delight readers.
An ode to the power of nicotine, by the Scottish novelist and dramatist, best known for inventing the character of Peter Pan. My Lady Nicotine is one of his earlier works. Focusing on his days as a smoker, J. M. Barrie takes us through his life as a smoker to his last pipe as he begins his non-smoking days. Barrie's humorous essays about his companions, habits and quitting are sure to delight readers.
My Lady Nicotine: Large Print A Study in Smoke by J. M. Barrie An ode to the power of nicotine, by the Scottish novelist and dramatist, best known for inventing the character of Peter Pan. My Lady Nicotine is one of his earlier works. Focusing on his days as a smoker, J. M. Barrie takes us through his life as a smoker to his last pipe as he begins his non-smoking days. Barrie's humorous essays about his companions, habits and quitting are sure to delight readers.
The circumstances in which I gave up smoking were these: I was a mere bachelor, drifting toward what I now see to be a tragic middle age. I had becomeso accustomed to smoke issuing from my mouth that I felt incomplete without it; indeed, thetime came when I could refrain from smoking if doing nothing else, but hardly during the hoursof toil. To lay aside my pipe was to find myself soon afterward wandering restlessly round mytable. No blind beggar was ever more abjectly led by his dog, or more loath to cut the string.I am much better without tobacco, and already have a difficulty in sympathizing with theman I used to be. Even to call him up, as it were, and regard him without prejudice is a difficulttask, for we forget the old selves on whom we have turned our backs, as we forget a street thathas been reconstructed. Does the freed slave always shiver at the crack of a whip? I fancy not, for I recall but dimly, and without acute suffering, the horrors of my smoking days. There werenights when I awoke with a pain at my heart that made me hold my breath. I did not dare move.After perhaps ten minutes of dread, I would shift my position an inch at a time. Less frequentlyI felt this sting in the daytime, and believed I was dying while my friends were talking to me. Inever mentioned these experiences to a human being; indeed, though a medical man wasamong my companions, I cunningly deceived him on the rare occasions when he questioned meabout the amount of tobacco I was consuming weekly. Often in the dark I not only vowed togive up smoking, but wondered why I cared for it. Next morning I went straight from breakfastto my pipe, without the smallest struggle with myself. Latterly I knew, while resolving to breakmyself of the habit, that I would be better employed trying to sleep. I had elaborate ways ofcheating myself, but it became disagreeable to me to know how many ounces of tobacco I wassmoking weekly. Often I smoked cigarettes to reduce the number of my cigar
My Lady Nicotine by James Matthew Barrie Barrie Pdf
The circumstances in which I gave up smoking were these: I was a mere bachelor, drifting toward what I now see to be a tragic middle age. I had become so accustomed to smoke issuing from my mouth that I felt incomplete without it; indeed, the time came when I could refrain from smoking if doing nothing else, but hardly during the hours of toil. To lay aside my pipe was to find myself soon afterward wandering restlessly round my table. No blind beggar was ever more abjectly led by his dog, or more loath to cut the string.I am much better without tobacco, and already have a difficulty in sympathizing with the man I used to be. Even to call him up, as it were, and regard him without prejudice is a difficult task, for we forget the old selves on whom we have turned our backs, as we forget a street that has been reconstructed. Does the freed slave always shiver at the crack of a whip? I fancy not, for I recall but dimly, and without acute suffering, the horrors of my smoking days. There were nights when I awoke with a pain at my heart that made me hold my breath. I did not dare move. After perhaps ten minutes of dread, I would shift my position an inch at a time. Less frequently I felt this sting in the daytime, and believed I was dying while my friends were talking to me. I never mentioned these experiences to a human being; indeed, though a medical man was among my companions, I cunningly deceived him on the rare occasions when he questioned me about the amount of tobacco I was consuming weekly. Often in the dark I not only vowed to give up smoking, but wondered why I cared for it. Next morning I went straight from breakfast to my pipe, without the smallest struggle with myself. Latterly I knew, while resolving to break myself of the habit, that I would be better employed trying to sleep. I had elaborate ways of cheating myself, but it became disagreeable to me to know how many ounces of tobacco I was smoking weekly. Often I smoked cigarettes to reduce the number of my cigars
The circumstances in which I gave up smoking were these: I was a mere bachelor, drifting toward what I now see to be a tragic middle age. I had become so accustomed to smoke issuing from my mouth that I felt incomplete without it; indeed, the time came when I could refrain from smoking if doing nothing else, but hardly during the hours of toil. To lay aside my pipe was to find myself soon afterward wandering restlessly round my table. No blind beggar was ever more abjectly led by his dog, or more loath to cut the string.I am much better without tobacco, and already have a difficulty in sympathizing with the man I used to be. Even to call him up, as it were, and regard him without prejudice is a difficult task, for we forget the old selves on whom we have turned our backs, as we forget a street that has been reconstructed. Does the freed slave always shiver at the crack of a whip? I fancy not, for I recall but dimly, and without acute suffering, the horrors of my smoking days. There were nights when I awoke with a pain at my heart that made me hold my breath. I did not dare move. After perhaps ten minutes of dread, I would shift my position an inch at a time. Less frequently I felt this sting in the daytime, and believed I was dying while my friends were talking to me. I never mentioned these experiences to a human being; indeed, though a medical man was among my companions, I cunningly deceived him on the rare occasions when he questioned me about the amount of tobacco I was consuming weekly. Often in the dark I not only vowed to give up smoking, but wondered why I cared for it. Next morning I went straight from breakfast to my pipe, without the smallest struggle with myself. Latterly I knew, while resolving to break myself of the habit, that I would be better employed trying to sleep. I had elaborate ways of cheating myself, but it became disagreeable to me to know how many ounces of tobacco I was smoking weekly. Often I smoked cigarettes to reduce the number of my cigars
My Lady Nicotine: A Study in Smoke by J. M. Barrie Pdf
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Matrimony and Smoking compared, My First Cigar, The Arcadia Mixture, My Pipes, My Tobacco-Pouch, My Smoking-Table, Gilray, Marriot, Jimmy, Scrymgeour, His Wife's Cigars, Gilray's Flower-Pot, The Grandest Scene in History, My Brother Henry, House-Boat "Arcadia", The Arcadia Mixture Again, The Romance of a Pipe-Cleaner, What could he do?, Primus, Primus to his Uncle, English-grown Tobacco, How Heroes smoke, The Ghost of Christmas Eve, Not the Arcadia, A Face that haunted Marriot, Arcadians at Bay, Jimmy's Dream, Gilray's Dream, Pettigrew's Dream, The Murder in the Inn, The Perils of not Smoking, My Last Pipe, When my Wife is Asleep and all the House is Still
Matrimony and Smoking compared, My First Cigar, The Arcadia Mixture, My Pipes, My Tobacco-Pouch, My Smoking-Table, Gilray, Marriot, Jimmy, Scrymgeour, His Wife's Cigars, Gilray's Flower-Pot, The Grandest Scene in History, My Brother Henry, House-Boat "Arcadia," The Arcadia Mixture Again, The Romance of a Pipe-Cleaner, What could he do?, Primus, Primus to his Uncle, English-grown Tobacco, How Heroes smoke, The Ghost of Christmas Eve, Not the Arcadia, A Face that haunted Marriot, Arcadians at Bay, Jimmy's Dream, Gilray's Dream, Pettigrew's Dream, The Murder in the Inn, The Perils of not Smoking, My Last Pipe, When my Wife is Asleep and all the House is Still. We are delighted to publish this classic book as part of our extensive Classic Library collection. Many of the books in our collection have been out of print for decades, and therefore have not been accessible to the general public. The aim of our publishing program is to facilitate rapid access to this vast reservoir of literature, and our view is that this is a significant literary work, which deserves to be brought back into print after many decades. The contents of the vast majority of titles in the Classic Library have been scanned from the original works. To ensure a high quality product, each title has been meticulously hand curated by our staff. Our philosophy has been guided by a desire to provide the reader with a book that is as close as possible to ownership of the original work. We hope that you will enjoy this wonderful classic work, and that for you it becomes an enriching experience.
The circumstances in which I gave up smoking were these: I was a mere bachelor, drifting toward what I now see to be a tragic middle age. I had becomeso accustomed to smoke issuing from my mouth that I felt incomplete without it; indeed, thetime came when I could refrain from smoking if doing nothing else, but hardly during the hoursof toil. To lay aside my pipe was to find myself soon afterward wandering restlessly round mytable. No blind beggar was ever more abjectly led by his dog, or more loath to cut the string.I am much better without tobacco, and already have a difficulty in sympathizing with theman I used to be. Even to call him up, as it were, and regard him without prejudice is a difficulttask, for we forget the old selves on whom we have turned our backs, as we forget a street thathas been reconstructed. Does the freed slave always shiver at the crack of a whip? I fancy not, for I recall but dimly, and without acute suffering, the horrors of my smoking days. There werenights when I awoke with a pain at my heart that made me hold my breath. I did not dare move.After perhaps ten minutes of dread, I would shift my position an inch at a time. Less frequentlyI felt this sting in the daytime, and believed I was dying while my friends were talking to me. Inever mentioned these experiences to a human being; indeed, though a medical man wasamong my companions, I cunningly deceived him on the rare occasions when he questioned meabout the amount of tobacco I was consuming weekly. Often in the dark I not only vowed togive up smoking, but wondered why I cared for it. Next morning I went straight from breakfastto my pipe, without the smallest struggle with myself. Latterly I knew, while resolving to breakmyself of the habit, that I would be better employed trying to sleep. I had elaborate ways ofcheating myself, but it became disagreeable to me to know how many ounces of tobacco I wassmoking weekly. Often I smoked cigarettes to reduce the number of my cigar
