Quotes About Dust

The infidel may well despond, When sorrow's tear he sheds, His bosom knows no hope beyond The dust on which he treads.

How impious is the title of sacred majesty applied to a worm, who in the midst of his splendor is crumbling into dust.

no matter how strong it was, love alone couldn't turn a speck of dust into a galaxy of stars.

pounding down the mountainside, in a cloud of clinging dust and a chorus of chilling shrieks, came all the loathsome creatures who choose to live in Ignorance

Look at the power of the world, look at the power of the dust, look at the water.

My dreams are worthless, my plans are dust, my goals are impossible. All are of no value unless they are followed by action.

The Scroll Marked IX My dreams are worthless, my plans are dust, my goals are impossible. All are of no value unless they are followed by action. I will act now.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to nonsignificance.

Spectre horsemen, pale with dust, anonymous in the crenellated heat. Above all else they appeared wholly at venture, primal, provisional, devoid of order. Like beings provoked out of the absolute rock and set nameless and at no remove from their own loomings to wander ravenous and doomed and mute as gorgons shambling the brutal wastes of Gondwanaland in a time before nomenclature was and each was all.

Stars were falling across the sky myriad and random, speeding along brief vectors from their origins in night to their destinies in dust and nothingness.

The dust the party raised was quickly dispersed and lost in the immensity of that landscape and there was no dust other for the pale sutler who pursued them drives unseen and his lean horse and his lean cart leave no track upon such ground or any ground. By a thousand fires in the iron blue dusk he keeps his commissary and he's a wry and grinning tradesman good to follow every campaign or hound men from their holds in just those whited regions where they've gone to hide from God.

He moves in the dry chaff among the dust and slats of sunlight with a constrained truculence. Saxon and Celtic bloods. A child of God much like yourself perhaps.

He is small, unclean, unshaven. He moves in the dry chaff among the dust and slats of sunlight with a constrained truculence. Saxon and Celtic blood. A child of God much like yourself perhaps.

The boy looked at him. Finally he asked him why this was such a blessing and the blind man did not answer and did not answer and then at last he said that because what can be touched falls into dust there can be no mistaking these things for the real. At best they are only tracings of where the real has been.

Their dust was in high demand, as it gave sweet dreams, but Tabetha couldn't afford to get lost in them. Those dreams were only lies anyway, and waking up from them only made facing reality harder.

And long after Kings are forgotten, and their names have fallen into dust, the good deeds and the actions of the Heroes live on in glory.

I couldn't swallow. It had to be wrong. We had to be able to rewind. It couldn't be real. It felt so weightless. It felt like an idea, a particle of dust floating around in the air that hadn't landed yet.

But mankind is a dead tree, covered with fine brilliant galls of people.[..]And if it is so, why is it? she asked, hostile.They were rousing each other to a fine passion of opposition. Why, why are people all balls of bitter dust?Because they won't fall off the tree when they're ripe.They hang on to their old positions when the position is over-past, till they become infested with little worms and dry-rot.

THIS DUST WAS ONCE THE MAN. This dust was once the man, Gentle, plain, just and resolute, under whose cautious hand, Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age, Was saved the Union of these States.

The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored , and unsung. Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)

it doesn't matter if it's in your house or in your heart. Dust never truly settles.

Be thou not ashamed of lust — Desire was sealed in primal dust It mingled with the seas of life To make the mud we know as love

The low sun stares through dust of gold...

Washington seems to be more concerned about political mud than radioactive dust.