Quotes About Flames

plate. For all the flames, the chicken looked golden brown and crisp. Tracy had no idea how Dan did it. He turned the knobs off, killing the flames, then shut off the nozzle supplying

Such times are rare, such times are fleeting, but always bright when caught, measured, hung, and later regarded in times of adversity, there in the kinder halls of memory, against the flapping of the flames.

This is how the fire starts. This is how we burn.

Love is like a fire, he decided. You could try to control it, but it wasn't always possible. Sometimes the flames burned you and sometimes they just warmed you from the inside out.

She said a silent prayer of gratitude and went to the stove, making as little noise as possible, stirring the embers with a poker and then shoving in several sticks of the precious seasoned wood. When the stove was putting out noticeable heat again, she made her way to the hearth and repeated the process, feeling a certain primitive joy as the flames leaped up around the fresh logs, crackling cheerfully and spilling warmth over her bare feet.

Can we expect the flames of our worship of God to burn brightly in public on the Lord's Day when they barely flicker for Him in secret on other days?

if i can only recount the story of my life right out of my body flames will grow

Smudge continued running laps, flames flickering like tiny orange banners on his back. He was never wrong about danger, but he couldn't tell you if that danger was a meteorite streaking toward the roof or an amorous moose running amok in the parking lot.

I've been reading about moths," she said, to fill the silence. "What have you read?" Maggie shrugged. "They navigate by the light of the moon. They fling themselves into flames and electric lights because they think they're headed toward the moon's light." "I guess they die in ecstasy then," Liam said.

Pass down an alley then turn a corner and there it is. Volcano in a wall. Do you see that, says Ancash. Beautiful, Herakles breathes out. He is looking at the men. I mean the fire, says Ancash. Herakles grins in the dark. Ancash watches the flames. We are amazing beings, Geryon is thinking. We are neighbors of fire. And now time is rushing towards them where they stand side by side with arms touching, immortality on their faces, night at their back.

I burn like money burns.

We'll see how the sky catches fire. We'll see how she feeds the flames with her implacable hate.

Was it the voice of a demon? It did not take me long to discover that it was my own voice, the voice of my superego guiding my dream like a pilot with nerves of steel, it was the super-I driving a refrigerated truck down the middle of a road engulfed in flames, while the id groaned and rambled on in a vaguely Mycenaean jargon. My ego, of course, was sleeping. Sleeping and toiling.

Why, I wonder, does he write and then burn? Does he seek to banish his memories? Does he fear that writing it down makes it important? Some day, I hope to sit next to him and demand that he tell to me everything he can remember of his life. And I will write it down and never let the flames steal it.

Are you saying a sorcerer could burst into flames?" "Mm, no, the body is too wet for that. He would more just . . . burst. Like a grilled sausage splitting its casing.

howling wind that set the flames a-roaring on the hearth. In the wide open door stood a huge man wrapped in a sheepskin cloak, the leather side outside, and a great fur cap now sodden with rain. He had a red beard and bushy brows of red, and there was a great scar on his cheekbone partly hidden by the beard.

Nothing relieves stress like setting things on fire.

He opened his eyes for an instant. Other people were writing and melting, but my brother stopped his flight long enough to look at me. An instant that would have to last forever. And then the flames rose higher and my brother was gone.

chambers and rattled even the iron-bound door in its frame. It taunted the flames in the firepit and they spat and crackled in their

When you were a Goth, it was important to at least imply the possibility you might burst into flames in direct sunlight.

suas mãos eram como as de um formidável maestro a reger todas as sinfonias de labaredas e chamas para fazer chover os frangalhos e as ruínas de carvão da história.

One section of the old city, tucked against the western walls, becomes a firestorm in which the spires of flames, at their highest, reach three hundred feet. The appetite for oxygen is such that objects heavier than housecats are dragged into the flames.

At daybreak, as he looked out over the sea, his gaze was met by ships that had been set on fire

looked back only once, to glance at the spot where Little Fox had been given to the Spirit of the Flames