Seems like I quit a hundred times or more, but finally "for ever" nearly 27 years ago. There was a group of us in the office that each put up $5 (went a lot further then than now) with the proviso that the last one to start smoking again got the pot. We started the wager with a hellacious pub crawl. It turned out to be one of those snot-flinging, floor-crawling, pot-hugging outings. For three days after I was afraid I would die, on the one hand, and afraid I wouldn't on the other. I never even thought of having a smoke the whole week (and this from a guy with a three-pack-a-day habit). It was then I thought "Hey, maybe I can do this." I just toughed it out the second week, but then it was like just flicking the off switch in my mind. I told myself "hey, I've won this fight," and never looked back. For a few years after, I had a strong allergic response (probably psychosomatic)to second-hand smoke, to the extent that I pretty much quit the pubs. That eventually passed. I have never had a desire to have a cigarette since then, but I confess that I have been known to move downwind of a good cigar or pipe. I don't have any inclination to have one, but do vicariously enjoy somebody else's. I have great respect and admiration for anyone who is able to make the break, however they do it.