Quotes About Fire

All is clouded by desire: as fire by smoke, as a mirror by dust ...Through these it blinds the soul.

intersection of Broadway and Houston Street. Here, it was once sagely remarked, you could fire a shotgun in any direction without hitting an honest man;

Young minister of God, keep that little sparkle in your eyes, and then write down how your call came to you, and when you've written it down in fire, defend it that way. When your defense is expressed in the hottest flame you can engender, only then will your definition be strong enough to last a lifetime.

For the fires I brought back to life with the sound of my own voice.

Origin Story Outside my window is the beginning of half my poems. The others start outside my door. In cach case the window is my body. I am always on the other side of the door. All summer every place around me caught fire. The flames orange haze spilled into my blood.

Man may have discovered fire, but women discovered how to play with it.

I was on fire - or whatever the equivalent of 'on fire' is when you're 'in water'. ( En fuego sounds awesome. En agua , not so much. No offense, Michael Phelps. Or Aquaman. Or Nemo.)

A man who has not passed through the inferno of his passions has never overcome them. They then dwell in the house next door, and at any moment a flame may dart out and set fire to his own house. Whenever we give up, leave behind, and forget too much, there is always the danger that the things we have neglected will return with added force.

The first thing that the boy called Smoke told Nick Waters was: "Your biology book's in my locker. The combination is 5-3-5." And the second thing he said was: "I didn't do that fire, man. I'm innocent.

A thousand suns rise from my chest.

If my tiny studio apartment in Santa Monica were, heaven forbid, to go up in a blazing inferno, the one thing I would rush back inside to save would be my favorite pair of strappy silver slingbacks.

Cold-blooded? Oh, no. This man suddenly burned.

The joy of the open fireplace is playing with fire without being accused of playing with fire.

Time is the fire in which we burn. Gene Roddenberry

We note that the Library has not had fire alarm drills for the last two hundred years. This is because we found the two default responses unhelpful. These being "running away screaming" or "resigning yourself to death while clutching your favourite books." Librarians with more useful suggestions should contact Yves via email and attach a full benefit-threat analysis.

You're being awfully calm about this." "Having your hand catch fire puts things into perspective…I find that it distracts me.

Vale stalked back in with a basin of water and some bandages. "Far be it from me to criticize," he said, "but setting the afflicted body part on fire is not a usual form of treatment for an injured hand. Though I hear that milk is high in calcium.

Fire existed only for a moment, remade with every passing second, constantly replaced by newly-created flames. While the burning materials might be of this world and contaminated by chaos, the actual tongues of fire were untouched. They were free from corruption as they winked in and out of existence.

the Library has not had fire alarm drills for the last two hundred years. This is because we found the two default responses unhelpful. These being "running away screaming" or "resigning yourself to death while clutching your favourite books.

That hadde a fyr-reed cherubynnes face.

Under the trimmed willows, where brown children are playing And leaves tumbling, the trumpets blow. A quaking of cemeteries. Banners of scarlet rattle through a sadness of maple trees, Riders along rye-fields, empty mills. Or shepherds sing during the night, and stags step delicately Into the circle of their fire, the grove's sorrow immensely old, Dancing, they loom up from one black wall; Banners of scarlet, laughter, insanity, trumpets

Pensive chest nut tree in tavern garden. The damp bells have grown silent. A young lad sings by the stream - Fire seeking out darkness -

Drifting off to sleep, I imagined a spark from the comet floating down, down like a mote of stardust, to land inside my father, where, settling in his belly, it rekindled the long-forgotten dreams and ambitions of his youth. I saw his white shirt glowing yellow in the moonlight, flames shooting from his fingertips, like he was a man set on fire.

Stir the fire till it lowe How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon From the slow opening curtains of the clouds Walking in beauty to her midnight throne!