Quotes About Pyre

This has happened and will happen again,' said Euphorbus. 'You are not lighting a pyre, you are lighting a labyrinth of flames. If all the fires I have seen were gathered together here, they would not fit on earth and the angels would be blinded. I have said this many times.' Then he cried out, because the flames had reached him.

Tis on the living Envy feeds. She silent grows When, after death, man's honor is his guard. So I, when on the pyre consumed I lie, Shall live, for all that's noblest will survive.

Praise the day at evening, a woman on her pyre, A weapon after it's tried, a maiden at her wedding, Ice after it's crossed, ale after it's drunk.

Augustus' body was laid on a pyre in the ustrinum, or crematorium, next to the mausoleum.

What do you do,' said Jean, 'with, ah, "ungifted" children when you have them?' 'Cherish them and raise them, you imbecile. Most of them end up working for us, in Karthain and elsewhere. What did you think we'd do, burn them on a pyre?' 'Forget I asked

Ah sweet city of my dreams Of speed and skill and schemes Like Atlantis you just disappeared from view And the hare upon the wire Has been burnt upon your pyre Like the black dog that once raced Out from trap two

What Hatüey said on the pyre is a legend in itself: Are there white people in Heaven? Then I'd rather go to Hell.)

What Hatüey said on the pyre is a legend in itself: Are there white people in Heaven? Then I'd rather to Hell)

When this is done, Jerkface, I will hold your tarnished and melted pin up as my trophy as your smoldering ship marks your pyre, and the final resting place of your crushed and broken corpse!" - Spensa, pg. 64

I am too old a soldier to believe that. Hoster will be chiding me about the Redwyne girl even as we light his funeral pyre, damn his bones.

desert place! Here let us all for death prepare, Or on the last great journey fare;320 Of Ráma our dear lord bereft, What profit in our lives is left? Huge trunks of trees around us lie, With roots and branches sere and dry, Come let us set these logs on fire And throw our bodies on the pyre.

the empty court is locked up. If all the injustice it has committed and all the misery it has caused could only be locked up with it, and the whole burnt away in a great funeral pyre—why

We must be mad, literally mad as a nation… It is like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre… As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. Like the Roman, I seem to see the River Tiber foaming with much blood. Enoch Powell, 1968

If, to use a simile, one views the growing work as a funeral pyre, its commentator can be likened to the chemist, its critic to an alchemist. While the former is left with wood and ashes as the sole objects of his analysis, the latter is concerned only with the enigma of the flame itself: the enigma of being alive. Thus the critic inquires about the truth whose living flame goes on burning over the heavy logs of the past and the light ashes of life gone by.

He'd known where he was going to end up. The pyre was just a fantasy. Whatever he did, he couldn't have escaped this rectangular hole in the ground, this pile of dirt covered by its blanket of Astroturf. If she'd married him, she would be buried in there, and if they'd had a baby, their child too. There was some ming for you. There was some fucking destiny.

The sea-nymphs come for the body, trailing their seafoam robes behind them. They wash him with rose oil and nectar, and weave flowers through his golden hair. The Myrmidons build him a pyre, and he is placed on it. The nymphs weep as the flames consume him. His beautiful body lost to bones and gray ash.