Quotes About Fire

The fire of love is drawn from the sky rather than the human mind.

Love ... is a sacred fire that must not be burnt to idols.

They are the privileged lovers who create a new world with their eyes of fiery passion.

I wanted to see something in full daylight; I was sated with the pleasure and comfort of the half light; I had the same desire for the daylight as for water and air. And if seeing was fire, I required the plenitude of fire, and if seeing would infect me with madness, I madly wanted that madness.

her stars; they had been waiting her whole life and she only had to find a way to reach them. But now that she saw them unfiltered, she felt revolted. They weren't beautiful. They were the lights of anglerfish, deep-sea monstrosities with glowing lures, calling the small and stupid toward jaws and needle teeth. There was only death out here, only void and fire, and the true beauty in the universe was what she had left behind.

the doctor saw that the fire was still raging in the hollow breast of the cattleman, but there was no longer fuel to feed it.

The burning beast suddenly vanished in a puff of smoke.

Upper-room futility. A little bit of faith but very little fire.

Meditation PRAYER OF SAINT PATRICK I arise today Through the strength of heaven; Light of the sun, Splendor of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of the wind, Depth of the sea, Stability of the earth, Firmness of the rock. I arise today Through God's strength to pilot me; God's might to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me, I arise today Through the mighty strength Of the Lord of creation.1

La manera más rápida de extinguir el fuego de la ira es con un balde de oración.

28So let us be thankful, because we have a kingdom that cannot be shaken. We should worship God in a way that pleases him with respect and fear, 29because our God is like a fire that burns things up.

How many churches today find themselves paralyzed in the upper room? How many congregations have just enough religion to come together, but not enough passion to go out. If the doors aren't locked, they might as well be. Upper room futility - a little bit of faith but very little fire.

Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, and cupped her nape with his other hand. This time when he kissed her there was none of the restraint she'd seen in the past. It was like kissing an inferno. Hot, breathless, so overwhelming that her senses shattered.

Tell me, Serena. Do you want me?" he asked softly. "Do you ache for me? Do you want my possession? Do you lie awake at night wanting a man strong enough to harness your sexuality, stroke it until the fire rages and then unleash it, set you free?

And there was another scent as well, one more subtle, but unquestionably more powerful. It whispered of things ancient, dark and mysterious. The smell of soot from a druid fire. The lingering bite in the air of gunpowder after a dual. It was dangerous, seductive, unnatural. And she found she could not get her fill of it.

Above his chest hung a set of barbells. I would not have liked to hazard a guess as to how much weight he was lifting, but allow me to assure you, with enough reps, I was quite sure he'd have no trouble heaving Debbie Mancuso out the window in the event of a fire. Which is all a girl really needs out of a boyfriend, if you ask me.

It's not that he lacked poetry. But his poetry was of the body, not the mind. He spoke it in the way he moved, the way he held a hammer, rowed a boat, built a fire. I, on the other hand, was like a brain in a box, a beating heart in a coal scuttle.

sometimes, when the sun shines, it scorches.

On the eve of the shadow crescent... Watch the Vampire burn.

My passion, My queen of fire and dread; Divine amalgamation Of swedes and cooper-thread, Unstitch your irritation And kiss me when I'm dead.

Blake When I remember how his spirits throve Amid dark city streets he did not see Because his eyes were veiled with poetry And at his heart the Prophets wings were wove, When I recall the squalor of his days And then remember what rare fire was spent When amid quenchless words he died, I praise Whatever Gods we're his, in wonderment

Of drawing forth a sun from my heart, and making of my burning thoughts a warm atmosphere.

Life has taught me to be very cautious of a man with a dream, especially a man who has teetered on the edge of life. It gives a fire and recklessness inside that is hard to quantify. It can also make them fun to be around.