Quotes About Fire

Fire wants to burn, Call thought to himself. Water wants to flow. Air wants to rise. Earth wants to bind. Chaos wants to devour. Call wants to live.

Hate that felt so good that he welcomed being consumed by it. Not a heart of stone, but a heart of fire.

The setting sun has lit the sky on fire, set the tops of the trees ablaze.

Against my shoulder she whispers, 'He's flint, you're tinder.

Everything is ferns, leaf mold, the crackle of fire, and the hum of distant voices.

By the fire, a spindly, insectile faerie stirs a big pot. 'You want soup, mortal?' I shake my head. 'You want to be soup?' it asks hopefully.

Fire wants to burn, water wants to flow, air wants to rise, earth wants to bind, chaos wants to devour.

Cardan, I hope your brother won't be angry. I'm afraid I may have set one of the guests on fire.

Of course I want to be like them. They're beautiful as blades forged in some divine fire. And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe.

I reach out my hand to the fire. Since I was formed of snow, I wonder if I will melt. I hold my fingers close enough to burn, but all that happens when I snatch them back is that the tips are reddened and they sting.

The last room Cardan occupied caught fire,' I call back to the Bomb. 'Let me rephrase. It caught fire because he lit it on fire.

I rub a hand over my face. By the fire, a spindly, insectile faerie stirs a big pot. "You want soup, mortal?" I shake my head. "You want to be soup?" It asks hopefully.

No matter how hard she swung at him, it just made him laugh. He liked her anger. Fire, he called it. She liked it when she was angry, too. Angry was better than scared.

Hate that was so bright and hot that it was the first thing that truly warmed him. Hate that felt so good that he welcomed being consumed by it. Not a heart of stone, but a heart of fire.

She thought of his eyes, red like spilled garnets, red as poppies, red as the bright embers of a fire. She thought of what they taught in school: cold hands, dead heart. Plenty of vampires had forgotten how to feel anything but hunger. He'd helped her, sure, but that didn't mean she could trust him not to turn on her now that they were out of danger. Vampires were unpredictable.

Holly Black, Cassandra Clare

How did you do it?" he wanted to know. "Enchanted arrows? Spell of exploding flesh? Rain of fire? No, not that. The worm would be cooked and we would be eating it. Wand of destruction? Oh, a wand of destruction would be a find, fine thing." He turned to me. "Speak up, girl." I hit him with your skillet. A lot.

One of the masked women imitates the sounds she hears and the ubiquitous tune, as she sways and runs her hand through her hair. A rutting mare, a slender block of ice, warm for others but not for herself, she seems to be split in two: fire from the waist down, straight lines above. Growing more sensual by the minute, more labile and smiling, her mask redder, flame is her nest, the flash of her eyes stony gray.

La verdadera pasión se expresa con gritos, con suspiros fastidiosos para el hombre frío.

I am the only fire that can live in the rain.

I look in the flames and see the hotter me.

He agreed with Francis Bacon: Old friends to trust, old wood to burn, old authors to read.

Mi padre se me ha aparecido esta noche. Estaba envuelto en un manto de fuego. Y me preguntaba por qué lo había matado por segunda vez al quemar sus cartas.

I had daydreams and fantasies when I was growing up. I always wanted to live in a log cabin at the foot of a mountain. I would ride my horse to town and pick up provisions. Then return to the cabin, with a big open fire, a record player and peace.