Quotes About Dust

Down at the edge of Mexican town, where the pavement gave out and the yellow dust drifted ankle-deep over the hard-packed adobe, a radio was moaning a dreamy beat into the night. It was the kind of music that needs two people, but only one was listening...

Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed,Never to be disquieted!My last good-night! Thou wilt not wake,Till I thy fate shall overtake;Till age, or grief, or sickness, mustMarry my body to that dustIt so much loves, and fill the roomMy heart keeps empty in thy tomb.Stay for me there; I will not failTo meet thee in that hollow vale.

Many a man gets weary of clamping down on his rough impulses, which if given occasional release would encourage the living of life with salt in it, in place of dust.

Life is real Life is earnest And the grave is not its goal Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

In streams of light I clearly saw The dust you seldom see, Out of which the Nameless makes A Name for one like me... All busy in the sunlight The flecks did float and dance, And I was tumbled up with them In formless circumstance.

The humans would not be a great loss to the earth. The energy or "electricity" of a being's spirit was not extinguished by death; it was set free from the flesh. Dust to dust or as a meal for pack rats, the energy of the spirit was never lost. Out of the dust grew the plants; the plants were consumed and became muscle and bone; and all the time, the energy had only been changing form, nothing had been lost or destroyed.

At the height of the Enron mania, the company's market value was $65 billion. Once the dust cleared, the final value was $0.

I see you've met Patrick of Ludlow, I replied, trying to stifle a giggle, for Tiger was thirty feet up in the shabby atrium , perched high upon a chandelier. How long have you been up there? Half an hour, he answered crossly, with only a lot of dust and the Transient Moose for company.

Did you know that ninety percent of your average household dust is composed of human epidermal matter? That's skin, to you. Perhaps this explains your sense of Amanda's omnipresence. She has left her skin behind.

The novels, travel books and poems I read had a particular smell. The smell of cellars. An almost spicy smell, a mixture of dust and grease. Verdigris. Books today don't have a smell. They don't even smell of print.

You can't take a dying project, sprinkle it with the magic pixie dust of "open source," and have everything magically work out.

But the robots who lived there kept their metal to themselves, so that the robots who lived in the centre were left to forge bodies out of wind and dust.

The wind blew the dust along the ground into his mouth as he sang.

This is a book. It is a book I found in a box. I found the box in the attic. The box was in the attic, under the eaves. The attic was hot and still. The air was stale with dust. The dust was from old pictures and books. The dust in the air was made up of the book I found. I breathed the book before I saw it; tasted the book before I read it.

Abulanam's Pride emerged into a sky dominated by the heaven tree of a stellar nursery. Billowing thunderheads and swirling currents of sooty dust, silicate grains and gas aglow with the radiation of hot bright stars embedded in them. Ragged pillars, shaped by light and stellar winds, clawing across a dozen light years, spalling offshoots tipped with the blowsy haloes of stars birthing in collapsing knots of protostellar material. A vast, violent engine of creation.

On Sackville Street, a girl who seemed to be about to choke coughed up something from her very core. / She wipes her mouth on her jute cloak / and reloads her father's four-bore. / The sky is full of coal dust.

We can see the Divine in each speck of dust, but that doesn't stop us from wiping it away with a wet sponge. The Divine doesn't disappear; it's transformed into the clean surface.

Art sweeps the everyday dust from your soul.

From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul.

In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread, Till thou return unto the ground; for thou Out of the ground wast taken; know thy birth, For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return.

The desert wind was strong, and the dust came over the street like fog. Still, two men were sweeping the road.

Have we wasted precious space dust on you?

We come to a lamp beside the pathway, and suddenly we stop walking, and we start to dance, and we glitter in the shafts of light, like stars, like flies, like flakes of dust.