Do you smoke, Herr Cabal?"
"Only to be antisocial," replied Cabal, making no move.

Not entirely fair?" His voice became that of the inferno: a rushing, booming howl of icy evil that flew around the great cavern, as swift and cold as the Wendigo on skates. "I am Satan, also called Lucifer the Light Bearer..."
Cabal winced. What was it about devils that they always had to give you their whole family history?
"I was cast down from the presence of God himself into this dark, sulfurous pit and condemned to spend eternity here-"
"Have you tried saying sorry?" interrupted Cabal.
"No, I haven't! I was sent down for a sin of pride. It rather undermines my position if I say 'sorry'!

I smoke so many cigarettes, there's no way I could have a glossy lipstick.

If all boys could be made to know that with every breath of cigarette smoke they inhale imbecility and exhale manhood ... and that the cigarette is a maker of invalids, criminals and fools—not men—it ought to deter them some. The yellow finger stain is an emblem of deeper degradation and enslavement than the ball and chain.

And since Logan didn’t seem the least bit antisocial . . .
“You don’t have to look like that, you know. I haven’t kicked a puppy in at least a decade.

Once I thought I found love, but then I realized I was just out
of cigarettes.