Best 114 quotes in «flame quotes» category

ACTS OF LOVE Love is not a word Or a thought. It is the name for An action That breathes from its light. What do you DO In Love's name? And is it only done Outside In the light? Or with an inner Flame Illuminating Love's TRUE Name? I want to know. Are your actions Done by remote Or with SOUL? And when you say You love someone, Does a light go off Inside at all? What have YOU Done In the Name of LOVE? Because, Really, I want to know.

A Christian’s heart for God should be like a teakettle on a flaming stove burner—hot to touch, visibly steaming, and audible.

A distant love that waits to be together, is by far the most difficult relationship. It's like lighting a candle, and adoring the long flame and robust glow. Until time sets in like wax, overflowing deeper and deeper into the wick, leaving a sparse flame struggling to live. This is where most distant relationships fade, with the wax smothering the flame. This kind of relationship takes patience, hope, unconditional love, trust and strength, all centered around God. If the flame endures to the end, and the two come together, only then will it feel as if the candle was tipped and all the wax came pouring out, when the flame is revived, long and glowing again.

A friend is the wax that keeps the flame lit, an enemy is the wind that blows it out.

A flame that flickered, And a soul that whimpered, A candle that blazed, And a fragrance that raised.   The flames were fed the same, But one remained diminished, While the other touched vintage!

An investment in acting lessons would serve you well. If you can avoid being a total shrew—or criminal, for that matter—you may come to my office.” “I’ll try to control my womanly impulses.” “See that you do.

Alone in the dark, the Creator lights a flame of fire, to guide my path.

And I shall seek you endlessly, for I am a moth, and you’re my flame Knowing that I’ll burn at your touch I return, for you’re a fire; untamed

All the whackjob psychologists out there will tell you that grief is a process. Some say it has five stages. Others say that grief should only last two years at the lost, otherwise it's "abnormal". Putting an expiration date of grief though is like putting out the flame on a burning candle. It might stop the candle from melting down and falling apart, but in the long run the candle goes solid, freezes in a catatonic state. Take away a person's grief and guaranteed they'll only be a frozen shell of a human being afterwards. Grief is only love, it's nothing to hide or send away with happy pills and mother's little helpers. Grief is a lifeline connecting two people who are in different realms together, and it's a sign of loyalty and hope.

And in the night you realize, when you wake out of a dream, overcome and captivated by the enchantment of visions that crowd in on each other, just how fragile a handhold, how tenuous a boundary separates us from darkness - we are little flames, inadequately sheltered by thin walls from the tempest of dissolution and insensibility in which we flicker and are often all but extinguished. Then the muted sounds of battle surrounds us, and we creep into ourselves and stare wide-eyed into the night.

...and who looks at a shadow when then have a flame? Who would ever choose a monster over a god?

Arise, my love, let us try to set these ashes on fire again!

Confidence is not a wilted plant that can be brought back to life with a bit of water. It is a highly flammable object. Doubt sets it aflame and destroys it irreparably.

Cigarette kisses the flame. But the mouth kisses the woman. (Cigarette embrasse la flamme. - Mais la bouche embrasse la femme.)

Contemplating a flame perpetuates a primordial reverie. It separates us from the world and enlarges our world as dreamers. In itself the flame is a major presence, but being close to it makes us dream of far away, too far away. The flame is there, feeble and tiny, struggling to stay in existence, and the dreamer goes on to dream of elsewhere, losing his own being by dreaming on a grand, on a too grand scale by dreaming of the world.

Brixie wasn’t talking to him, or listening to him. Nothing like that at all. Brixie was off in her own world, flaming away like a blowtorch. She was such an Internet fiend that she had never learned any other way to behave.

Dancing with heartbreak is the strangest thing. It's like playing with fire; you know you'll get burnt but you are still captivated by the flickering flame and the magnetic heat.

Fashion doesn't make you perfect, but it makes you pretty.

Do not try quiet my voice. Do not attempt to soften my edges or tame my prowl. I am inhabiting my wild. I am encompassing the dance. I am no longer burning down. That time is over. I am the white hot ignition. I am starting the fire. I am rising like flame.

Envy the fire, for it is either going or not. Fires do not feel happy, sad, angry. They burn, or they do not burn.

Every time I opened my mouth, flame licked up my throat. I could have razed vil­lages, kid­napped princesses.

Faith is the flame that eliminates all fear.

Don't let someone keep putting out the flame God keeps re-lighting, we all have a purpose. As a wing to a bird. As wind that goes the destiny over the sea.

everblaze: the unstoppable flame

Faith is holy flame.

Flowing like water through the fires of life, Touching the earth through waves of light Reaching for air when you're tired to fight Extinguish the flames, you'll be alright

From his observation so far, she was not the typical English noblewoman. He had been prepared to break her, like a spirited horse who had never worn saddle or bridle. Instead, when he looked at her, he saw a diffident woman without any sense of her own consequence. Her face was gently rounded, with dimples in her cheeks, an indent in her chin, and full, supple lips. She swept her black hair into an unfashionable roll at the back of her head, and if he knew his women- and he did- when unpinned it would reach to her waist with a natural wave that made a man want to coil his fingers in the living strands. Her body was bound in dark, unsightly clothes, but that camouflage couldn't conceal a generous bosom, and when he had wrapped his fingers around her waist, he had discovered how narrow that waist was, and beneath that, the graceful flare of her hips. He looked down at his hands and smiled. The feel of her had burned through her petticoats to his flesh, and he thought- no, he knew- the same flame had licked at her, for she'd examined him as if he were wild and unruly.

Had she allowed the flame to burn so low it was now in danger of complete extinction?

He lit his pipe, and the match head in that room of paper and leather flared up like an idea.

His eyes darted over the surface of my face. Like a moth to a blaze he was hesitant, seeming to crave my warmth but not its inevitable burn. He explored me from a distance with his unspoken desire, with the fear that touching me would set him to flame. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to prove very much the opposite.

How I wish I was like the water, Flowing so freely with every drop Let my every emotion wonder, No need to start, nor even stop How I wish I was like the fire, Burning with every flame up Leaving a trace of hot desire As a Phoenix raises its' wings up How I wish I was like the earth, Raising each flower from the ground Seeing the beauty of death and birth And then returning to the ground How I wish I was like the wind, Hearing each whisper, sound and thought A lonesome and wandering little wind, Shattering all that has been sought Oh, how I wish I was where you are, Not separated by empty space, so far It seems like we're galaxies apart, But we find hope within our heart And how I wish I was all of the above, So I can come below and yet forget, The beauty of angels which come down like a dove And demons who love with no regret.

If you devote yourself to God, then He in turn will continually stay with you, as an eternal candle flame stays with a wick, feeding off the overflow of wax; yet reshaping into something better.

I know I'm different. I know I don't see the world like everyone else does. But I want to see your world, Maddie. Even if it's the only one I'll ever understand.

In all the flames of fire fume’s left the trace Into the bluest sea the sky is drowned The miracles of life can you embrace From the poem 'Can You Embrace?

In daylight and up close, he was merciless, all smiles and freckles, the brightest, boldest flame a moth could wish for.

In Hebrew teaching Ruach is the part of the flame closest to the wick. Nephesh is the part of the wick closest to the flame.

In the eyes of love we are all sparks waiting for the flame.

I try to be gentle, but there is nothing gentle about the feelings she evokes in me. She’s pure flame, and like her wild hair, she’s making me burn.

It was little more than a weak flame flickering under the weight of his melancholia, but it was there. A splinter of possibility. Maybe he didn't want to die. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to live. It didn't burn away his sadness. It didn't make his future appear any less dark. But it was there—hope, perhaps, or something like it—and it was enough.

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 was a candle that had never known a flame, and now that the flame was lit, I softened and glowed in a way I had not known was possible.

Listen well, as I speak of my upsurge; For I’m a lover, without a lover I am a flame, without a combustion I am a novice, without a mentor I am a healer, without a wounded I am a winner, without a trophy I’m a captain, without a devotee And above all, I’m alone – not lonely

Love enters your heart a spark and exits your soul a flame.

Love is the flame that set the heart on fire.

Love is the opposite of fear and it lights the flames of a million hearts.

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

Forbidden things - my God, I'm drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

from the Prize winning poem - UNBORN in the book Terra Affirmative. "Under the surface / her body is curled, / seed of the one race, / shell of the world. // She is thw waterfall, / she is the womb, / she is the bubble, /she is the tomb. // Her hair flows upward, / blood red of the birth. / Her arms are folded / deep into the earth. // She is the fern, / she is the bark, / she is the lantern, / she is the dark. // Her eyes burn the flame / of the old and the young. / Her breath is the name / of each branch of each lung. // She is the ingredient. / She is the blend. / She is the beginning. / She is the end.

Her own hair was a glory of copper fire that morning, shining like a whisky still, long and loose in gentle flames down her back.

He's flint, you're tinder.