Best 247 quotes in «heat quotes» category

What grows best in the heat: fantasy; unreason; lust.

What's better these days, television or film? It's a dead heat. In fact, one could argue for television with more regularity.

What would a man do, if he were compelled to live always in the sultry heat of society, and could never bathe himself in cool solitude?

What is an individual? Just a bit of life shot off from the one Life in the universe-just a bit of love and truth dropped on this globe, just as the globe itself was once a bit of light and heat dropped from the sun.

When I was a boy I remember the women, how they dressed, how they behaved, what was important to them at the time. Like Lee Marvin and Gloria Grahame in The Big Heat.

While we got hotter and thirstier as the heat beat down on us. The somebody would call in a voice full of elation

When I left Chicago, people said, 'Careful with that Texas heat'. I'm from Puerto Rico. I know heat.

When I left Chicago, people said, 'Careful with that Texas heat'. I'm like, 'I'm from Puerto Rico. I know heat.

Wind is God's way of balancing heat. Wind is the way you shift heat from areas where it's hotter to areas where it's cooler. That's what wind is.

Write while the heat is in you.

You can't have a helicopter fly over boiling lava. It would've exploded from the heat, and is just way too dangerous. The pilot of a helicopter would've flatly refused anyway.

Women are like ovens. We need 5 to 15 minutes to heat up.

Ah earth you old extinguisher.

A growing heat, like a million blazing suns all focused on me, lit my insides. It felt like I was being cooked in the Gabriella Roast Cooker, me spinning around-and-around to heat my flesh evenly. For some reason I was having trouble comprehending the sudden change in my revolving world as I swelled with a horrible, billowing fire.

… Fourier's great mathematical poem ... {Referring to Joseph Fourier's mathematical theory of the conduction of heat, one of the precursors to thermodynamics.}

You are not Dostoevsky,' said the woman... 'You never can tell...' he answered. 'Dostoevsky is dead,' the woman said, a bit uncertainly. 'I protest!' he said with heat, 'Dostoevsky is immortal!

As my muscles marginally relax, the tension flicks from anger to fevered desire. I want to tear each wisp of clothing off her and tie her to this f**king desk. I’ll know next time, to bring my satin ribbon.

A diamond is just a rock that refused to break under heat and pressure.

Beyond the canopy of my embrace, you shall feel the blistering heat of the Desert.

But as she looked over toward the doors, her breath caught. Her eyes locked on the deep blue ones of a man just entering. He was tall and muscular, his hair blonde and well cut. And he was dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit and a deep blue tie. But it was his eyes that drew her focus and made her heart beat faster.

Diamonds are only lumps of coal that stuck at it no matter how much heat or pressure they faced.

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back." -Plato

Everyone should be very grateful radioactivity exists at all. It can kill you, yes, but without it you wouldn't have been born in the first place. On Earth, deep under your feet, our planet happens to contain many atoms that do decay, all the time. Less so now than in the past, but still, Earth's mantle is radioactive. When atoms decay there, the particles they emit bump into their neighbours and generate heat, the very heat that contributes to keeping our planet warm. Without radioactivity, there would be no seismic or volcanic activity. The surface of the Earth would have been dead cold billions of yeras ago. Life as we know it would probably not exist at all.

Every tree in the forest has a story to tell. Some of them were burnt but they endured the fire and got revived; some of them were cut, their barks injured, some people pick up their leaves to make medicines for their sicknesses, birds used their leaves to make their nests, etc. Upon all these, the tree is still tree!

Hauling in a quick breath, she held it, stretched upward, shut her eyes, and fleetingly touched her lips to his. They were as hard as she'd imagined, very like sculpted marble. Sensation flared at the brief contact; her lips tingled, then throbbed. Patience blinked her eyes wide as she lowered her heels to earth. And refocused on his lips. She saw the ends curve upward, heard his low, wickedly teasing laugh. "Still not right. Here- let me show you." His hands came up to frame her face, her jaw, tilting her lips up as his descended. Of their own volition, her lids fell, then his lips touched hers. Patience couldn't have quelled the shudder that passed through her had her life depended on it. Stunned, poised to resist, she mentally paused. Strong, sure, his lips covered hers, moving slowly, languorously, as if savoring her taste, her texture. There was nothing threatening in the unhurried caress. Indeed, it was beguiling, luring her senses, focusing them on the practiced slide and glide of cool lips which seemed to instinctively know how to soothe the heat rising in hers. Hers throbbed; his pressed, caressed, as if drinking in her heat, stealing it from her. Patience felt her lips soften; his firmed in response. 'No, no, noo....' Some small part of her mind tried to warn her, but she was long past listening. This was new, novel- she'd never felt such sensations before. Never known such simple delight existed. Her head was whirling, but not unpleasantly. His lips still seemed hard, cool- Patience couldn't resist the temptation to return the pressure, to see if his lips would soften to hers. They didn't, they only became harder. The next instant, she felt a searing heat sweep over her lips. She stilled; the questing heat returned- with the tip of his tongue, he traced her lower lip. The contact lingered, an unspoken question. Patience wanted more. She parted her lips. His tongue slid between, slowly, with his customary assured arrogance, quite certain of his welcome, confident in his expertise.

I feel like the queen of the oven! I am the Queen of all oven-dry! Master of heat! You may now address me as "Your Royal Highness"!

I felt dry as if someone had skinned me. I was not the bones and meat, but the cast-aside skin. The heat had hollowed me.

If the forest has a day of fire and the heat of the flames does not consume a special tree, it will still be changed; charred, but still standing.

I only say I love you when I mean it just like I only speak in tongues when I’m heated.

I tried to hold fire once...see from a distance it mesmerized me captivated me for hours at a time The more it danced with the wind, I felt my body sway to its rhythm I tried to hold fire once It's glow drew me in closer And although I know full well the damage that fire can do... Staring directly at it, I know it's beauty too It's warmth was now on my face and I couldn't imagine being in any other place I reached out with my bare hands & it danced even more And suddenly I felt it's heat deep within my core Rising like a volcano ready to erupt But somehow balanced & purposeful I tried to hold fire once until I realized that fire held me Passionately and I was it's guiding force. If you look close enough, you'll see it dancing in my eyes, feel it in my touch, even hear it in my voice...but don't ever forget that fire consumes and cannot be contained so I must master my energetic output to control the flames.

It's hot,' [Mulder] said, dropping on the bench beside [Scully]. 'It's July, Mulder,' Garson reminded him. 'It's New Mexico. What did you expect?' 'Heat I can get at home. An oven I already have in my apartment.

It's the kind of kiss that ends with clothes on the floor and somebody getting dicked out up against the wall.

A rock that perseveres under heat and pressure soon becomes a diamond.

As a blacksmith uses heat to temper steel, so should a trial by fire strengthen one’s mettle.

A sweaty bum crack will become the norm in a climate changed world.

At 6:15 she was standing on her front porch watering gardenias and watching another line of thunderstorms split and go around her. The same thing happened almost every day. Some days they came so close all she could smell was the rain. The wind whipped up dust from the fields until it drove like buckshot into the shuddering mesquites, and Clara Nell started to pray. 'Jesus,' she whispered. 'Jesus, Jesus....' But the only thing that came out of the sky was her topsoil. Every day the wind took a little more, and it hadn't rained in almost a year.

At home, my mother dabbed at her brow with a wet flannel she kept in the fridge for that purpose.

El calor lo aplasta todo, tiraniza al mundo, corroe lo salvable y despierta sólo las iras, los rencores, las envidias, los odios más infernales, como si su propósito fuera provocar el fin de los tiempos, la historia, la humanidad y la memoria...

For five days the city had wilted under a hard sky, sweltering in a temperature that stayed fixed in the middle nineties. Even at night there was no relief from the heat. Pyjamas and nighties stuck clammily to damp skin. Half-clad, self-pitying figures rose, exasperated by insomnia, to stumble through darkened rooms in search of a cooler plot than their bed, hoping that, all accidentally, they might waken any gross sleeper the house contained. Cold water ran hot from the taps, and the roads turned to tar.

Heat in her birds of prey fingertips, smoke of gilded flowers in her aureate gorging hair.

Heat is heat.

Heat makes things expand; that is why life sometimes throws us into a fiery furnace.

He who cannot put his thoughts on ice should not enter into the heat of dispute.

He who sits/stands in front of the fire sees more than the flames.. He feels the heat! Too often from a distance others observe the flames only as a source of light.

Hmm, do you mind if I put out your fire then?” I brushed his earlobe with my upper lip.

Hot, bright heat filled him like some ecstatic poison, and Hartan's pony shied in terror as a wordless howl burst from his throat. His dripping ears were flat to his skull, fire crackled in his brown eyes, his huge sword blurred in a whirring figure eight before him, and the brigand running at him gawked in sudden panic. The raider's feet skidded in mud as he tried to brake, but it was far too late. He was face-to-face with the worst nightmare of any Norfressan, a Horse Stealer hradani in the grip of the Rage, and a thunderbolt of steel split him from crown to navel.

Hygge offers space for both reverie and relatedness. The heat of an open fire draws us close. Its shadow gives us a place to hide and softens our gaze.

I believe someone made a grievous mistake when summer was created; no novitiate or god in their right mind would make a season akin to hell on purpose. Someone should be fired.

I can't believe this heat," Abbey said, taking her tunic and pulling it over her head. Underneath was a form-fitting top that showed a figure unaccustomed to idleness or excess. Kip stared at her the way he had at the shiney curves of the steel horse back in the garage. "Can you imagine what it must have been like hundreds of years ago, when weather changed just a few times a year?" she said, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Yeah, it must have looked great," Kip said. "What do you mean looked great?" Abbey said, turning her eye on Kip. "Must have been great, like you said," he corrected.

I could feel the overwhelming heat and humidity pour through the open door before I even walked out onto the steps that had been rolled up to the airplane door. What happened next was staggering and quite intimidating. What passed as soldiers came up to the bottom of ladder and pointed their automatic weapons at the passengers. Ignoring the protests of airport officials, the passengers were herded by these heavily armed ragtag soldiers of the Liberian Security Forces, across the tarmac to a small arrival building, having an attached control tower. This was the terminal, administrative building and gateway to Liberia all in one. Autocratic officials, wearing torn military type uniforms sat at small wooden desks, pompously asking questions, taking money and stamping papers. Soldiers equally ill attired, opened suitcases and bags, roughly tearing through them and lifting the contents with the bayonets of their rifles. Brazenly and without offering any explanation they confiscated any personal articles that attracted their attention. Fortunately I didn’t have anything other than a bottle of aftershave, but I could see a woman that was pleading for the return of her wedding ring. After much palaver and the intervention of an officer did the soldier returned her ring, but not until after she gave them some money. Dash.