Best 3882 quotes in «fire quotes» category

It’s that feeling of being essential, of deep belonging and of community without borders that shines a light into places that might have otherwise remained unexplored. It’s the feeling of peace that can stay present despite the “emptiness” that can be left behind after a fire goes through.

It's tempting to think of red for sun," she said, "but it has to be just a dash, not much. More of a dark orange and a hint of brown. And then white on yellow on white. Not bright white,' she said. 'The kind of white that makes you squint, but in a softer way...' 'Go look at fire for a while. Go spend some time with fire.' Looking at fire was interesting, I have to admit. I sat with a candle for a couple hours. It has these stages of color: the white, the yellow, the red, the tiny spot of blue I'd heard mentioned but never noticed.

It takes a strong man to be with a woman full of fire and stars and all of October.

It was an awkward moment. We were burning down our host's house, a situation which any guest seeks to avoid.

It was a pleasure to burn. It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic helmet numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange flame with the thought of what came next, he flicked the igniter and the house jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace, while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling whirls and blew away on a wind turned dark with burning.

It was exactly the sort of thing I needed to be reading that afternoon: a story where, no matter how bad things got, you knew everything was going to turn out fine in the end.

It was while I was seated in an easy-chair in the street the following evening, smoking, watching the combustion of this structure, that something was suddenly born in me, something out of Hell, and I smiled a smile that never man smiled. And I said: 'I will burn: I will return to London...

I've written you sixty-seven love poems. Here’s another one for you. But really, for me. These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me. I place this candle here and another there so even if the stars have argued with the moon and are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me. Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us? Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect? I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of love if by lighting these candles our own flame loses its brightness? I know the good is more than the bad. Much more. I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.

i want to love you with simple, like a bare singular matchstick. one stroke to ignite with no words spoken by the heated flames of the timber of crimsoned scarlet fire. as it crackles with close separation entangled with the intimacy of firefly ashes choosing to enchantingly dance around in abundant joy. hazily whistling into the glorified heavens making the ebony soot dissolve into the cool crisp air. yearning to be the explosion who burns through your bones as you visualize red ecstasy of a provoked kindle.

I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women and children. There will be no survivors." The shock I've been feeling begins to give way to fury. "I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." My hands go out automatically, as if to indicate the whole horror around me. "This is what they do and we must fight back!" "President Snow says he's sending a message. Well I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" One of the cameras follows where I point to the planes burning on the roof of a warehouse across from us. "Fire is catching!" I am shouting now, determined he will not miss a word of it, "And if we burn, you burn with us!

I want to think about trees. Trees have a curious relationship to the subject of the present moment. There are many created things in the universe that outlive us, that outlive the sun, even, but I can’t think about them. I live with trees. There are creatures under our feet, creatures that live over our heads, but trees live quite convincingly in the same filament of air we inhabit, and in addition, they extend impressively in both directions, up and down, shearing rock and fanning air, doing their real business just out of reach.

I was in no tent under leaves, sleepless and glad. There was no moon at all; along the world’s coasts the sea tides would be springing strong. The air itself also has lunar tides; I lay still. Could I feel in the air an invisible sweep and surge, and an answering knock in the lungs? Or could I feel the starlight? Every minute on a square mile of this land one ten thousandth of an ounce of starlight spatters to earth. What percentage of an ounce did that make on my eyes and cheeks and arms, tapping and nudging as particles, pulsing and stroking as waves?

I was the fire to your ice, the only snake eyes you ever rolled with that dice in your mind.

I will always continue to love the way how the fire inside you burnt everyone around it, But took me in its arms and kept me warm.

I was sprawled out in my usual position on the couch, half asleep but entirely drunk, torturing myself by tearing memories out of my mind at random like matches from a book, striking them one at a time and drowsily setting myself on fire.

I will never forget your fire. I can't wait to see what you do.

Looking up at that starry sky gave him the creeps: it was too big, too black. It was all too possible to imagine it turning blood-red, all too possible to imagine a Face forming in lines of fire.

I will track right on down to hell to pull your ass out of the fire.

Live your life. It’s yours anyway. Don’t try too hard. It’s okay to lose.

Just as a candle is useless until you light it, so a man is useless until the fire inside his soul is lit.

Losing your love hurts more than playing with fire.

Love is the only candle whose flame is eternally lit.

Love is a forest fire ignited by a firefly

Love is when you start denying all the definitions it was given before and you start finding your own. It is when the other person craves to see your bare soul more than your bare skin. It is something that happens between souls, where the touch of their fingers on your skin lits fire to your soul and destroys you in the most beautiful way possible and makes you end up craving to be destroyed even more.

Love fire lit me today. And I am burning with its flame. Before I turn to ash. O you, come and touch me.

Love, they said, burns you and builds you. But with you, there’s no ash. Just light.

Money is like fire. It is only good when there's just the right amount of it, when it's properly contained and under your control.

May not subterraneous fire be considered as the great plough (if I may be allowed the expression) which Nature makes use of to turn up the bowels of the earth?

Mes gavome dovanų ugnį, nes mumyse buvo kažkas dieviško. O dabar mes slepiame ją, nes žudome savyje tą dievišką dalelytę.

May the fire in your soul, burn down all the fences and walls which this society is trying to build around you.

MOTHER IS WATER I wish I could Shower your head with flowers And anoint your feet with my tears, For I know I have caused you So much heartache, frustration and despair – Throughout my youthful years. I wish I could give you The remainder of my life To add to yours, Or simply erase The lines on your face, And mend all that has been torn. For next to God, You are the fire That has given light To the flame in each of my eyes. You are the fountain That nourished my growth, And from your chalice – Gave me life. Without the wetness of your love, The fragrance of your water, Or the trickling sounds of Your voice, I shall always feel thirsty.

Most fires crackle and pop, but that's not really the fire talking, it's the wood. To hear the fire itself you need a huge blaze like this one, a furnace so powerful it roars with its own wind. I crouched as close as I dared and listened to its voice, a whispered howl of joy and rage.

Mountain may want to be with the stream To climb the hills perhaps a river's dream What we want exactly we may never know Flame of fire might love to melt with the snow

My heart still speaks of our fire.

Musicians do not get on stage without hearing the song singing inside of them. Poets do not write as if they are jotting down a sermon, they see everything in their subconscious before presenting it to the conscious, which they later turn to  readable materials. Artist do not draw and paint without painting in dream states, trance, or see an art form that others do not see. Being creative does not calls for being any supernatural entity, but in creating with the entities inside of you.

My dreams are all of fire – mother says dreams usually go by opposites, so does that mean the world will end in ice?

Music is often the spark that lights the fire of the soul.

My bridled soul leaps under the pressure of desires, Chained i am by this organic-societal form from galloping free My mind heaves me to safety,but heart is ready for doom... An all knowing glance pierced deep through my skin Smiling at my ailing and confused form, Invading my senses, feeding them to the eternal fires...

My GOD is a consuming fire and He answers by FIRE! His fire surrounds me and burns inside of me. My faith has been tested in the fire. My faith in Him is unwavering, therefore I shall not be moved. I cannot fail because He will NEVER fail me.

My mother used to say not sleeping was the sign of a guilty mind. It could have been. There was a lot in my mind to feel guilty about. When you’re drunk and trying to sleep, your thoughts are visited by the ghosts of those deeds whose heat still glows hottest in your personal darkness. Our actions burn much longer than the moments in which they occur. And drunks like me, we hide from the glow of the embers by fueling other fires and hiding within the flames.

No wood, no fire.

Napoleon recalled his dismay at seeing 'mountains of swirling red flames, like huge ocean waves, exploding up into the sky of fire, then sinking into the sea of flames below'.

Neke oci svetlucaju kao vatromet.

No canto remoto da mente dela, essa frase tinha sido um fio de fumo, mas a voz tornou-a fogo. Só as cinzas permaneciam do riso e da alegria de pouco antes.

No one needs to light a fire under you when there’s a fire in you.

Nothing much bothered you for a while and you kept walking like a silhouette through this town, saying hi’s and goodbyes, acting polite at all times. But there is no fire in your heart; you are not very concerned.

Now the fire rises and offers a dozen, singing, deep-red roses of flame.

My son will not allow any fires tonight," Gaea said from the depths of the warehouse. "He is the void that consumes all magic, the cold that consumes all fire, the silence that consumes all speech." Leo wanted to shout: "And I’m the dude that’s all out of here!

Never start a fire, especially if there is no water nearby.

- Non le succede qualche volta, guardando la forma del fuoco, di provare una strana sensazione? - chiese a Miyake. - Cioè? - Sentire in modo stranamente preciso delle cose che nella vita di tutti i giorni di solito non percepiamo. Non so come dire...non sono brava a esprimermi, ma a stare così a guardare il fuoco, senza alcuna ragione provo una sensazione di pace. Miyake ci pensò su. - La forma del fuoco è libera. E siccome è libera, chi la guarda può vederci qualunque cosa. Se lei guardando il fuoco prova una sensazione di pace, è perché la sensazione di pace che ha dentro ci si riflette. Capisce cosa intendo? - Sì. - Però, non si può dire che questo succeda guardando le fiamme di qualsiasi fuoco. Perché accada, le fiamme devono essere libere.