Quotes About Fire

Wherever we go we do harm, forgiving ourselves as wheels do cement for wearing each other out. We set this house on fire, forgetting that we live within. (from "To a Meadowlark," for M.L. Smoker)

Music inflames temperament.

The fire was barely fifteen minutes old. What followed was a series of fatal errors that set the fire free and doomed the city to a fiery death.

a single tongue of flame shooting out the side of the O'Learys' barn. (Where the fire started)

At one point, Ida wondered if the board would get me a new school if this one burned down. "By accident, of course," she said quickly. Fire would solve a lot of that building's problems.

From birth my tongue has had a fire for communication with trees and dirt and water

Her dread of fire was almost as strong as her fear of deep water. She wasn't so much afraid of dying as she was of pain. If they had to die, she just hoped it wouldn't hurt too much. Or for too long.

Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your heart or burn down your house, you can never tell.

I find that kind of "look at me" narcissism terribly inconsiderate. If you need attention that badly, set yourself on fire.

Ä°çindeki sönmüÅŸ yanarda??n yapt??? bask?y? hafifletmenin tek yolu kar??-ateÅŸler yakmak olmuÅŸtu art?k.

Pauline let out a loud groan. "Everybody thinks everybody is the killer. The lady at the 7-Eleven says it's that guy Sam from the Gill Creek Maritime Museum, because he has sinister eyebrows. I think it's Liam." Liam stared into the fire. "I did it with s'more sticks.

When trees burn, they leave the smell of heartbreak in the air.

Mom hopped up to turn off the burner, but it subsided before she got there. 'If this--whatever it is--starts playing with fire,' she said through clenched teeth, 'I'm going to give it a spanking.

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire. That day in Moscow, it will all come true, when, for the last time, I take my leave, And hasten to the heights that I have longed for, Leaving my shadow still to be with you.

True love's memory, You are heavy! In your smoke I sing and burn, And the rest -- is only fire To keep the chilled soul warm. To keep warm the sated body, They need my tears for this Did I for this sing your song, God? Did I take part of love for this? Let me drink of such a poison, That I would be deaf and dumb, And my unglorious glory Wash away to the final crumb.

Oh, this was a cold day In Peter's wonderful town! The shadow grew dense, and the sundown Like purple fire lay. Let him not want my eyes fair Prophetic and never-changing All life long verse he'll be catching - My conceited lips' empty prayer.

Giles kissed her again, hard and furious. As if he hated her. He'd been in love for years, yet he'd never realized love could be like this. Like someone struck him with a club over and over again. Like fire devouring him. Sweet and terrible. Painful and fierce.

Below, the fjord was an impossible icy volcano erupting the baleful fire of the swallowed sun.

Here Naples was not bathed by the sea. I was sure that no one had ever seen this place or remembered it. In this dark pit only the fire of sexuality burned bright under an eerie black sky.

There is a place where travelers rest, And lay their heads in peace. Returning to the Eagle's nest, All war within will cease. O Lamb of God, Our heart's desire, O Truth in Word, Eternal Fire, O Lamb of God, God's chosen Son, Receive them when Their race is run.

Soviet joke about the terrible anxiety Ivan and his wife Masha experienced when the knock on the door came—and their relief when they learned it was only the neighbor come to tell them that the building was on fire.

Fire hath its force abated by water, not by wind; and anger must be allayed by cold words, and not by blustering threats.

Four of the roses were on fire. They stood up straight and pure on the stalk, gripping the dark like prophets and howling colossal intimacies from the back of their fused throats. - XXVII. MITWELT

If prose is a house, poetry is a man on fire running quite fast through it".