Best 28 quotes in «wildfire quotes» category

Call her out,” Arabella said. “Tell her Rogan is yours!” Grandma Frida pumped her fist. “Don’t let her take your man!” Leon declared. We all looked at him. “I was feeling left out,” he said.

As the need grows for more research, both Canada and the United States continue to take money away from fire science, forest management, and conservation initiatives to pay for the rising cost of fire.

Canada now spends as much as $1 billion each year fighting fires, five times the amount it spent in the 1990s.

Every time his lips meet mine, my whole body begins a slow tingle that starts from within my chest, and spreads like a wildfire.

Cornelius opened the car door and cautiously peered out. “Yes?” I asked. “Checking to see if it’s safe to come out.” Everyone was a comedian. I sighed and went into my office.

Every time his lips meet mine, my whole body begins a slow tingle that starts from within in my chest, and spreads like a wildfire.

I don’t believe she sees him as family,” Cornelius said. “She can see him however she wants. I only care how Rogan sees me.

Fighting wildfires is the most visible thing the USDA does. It's the places in our government where the cameras never roll that you have to worry about most.

For the first time in the US Forest Service's history, more than half the agency's annual appropriated budget was devoted to wildfires in 2015, up from 16 percent in 1995. Nowadays, the US Forest SErvice's annual firefighting budget routinely runs our of money before the fire season ends. With this trend of increasing costs for fighting wildfires expected to continue, two-thirds of the agency's budget will go for this kind of work by 2025.

His look his touch his heat spread like wildfire through me.

How was I to know this tiny spark would spread like wildfire.

I feel as though dispossessed from the semblances of some crystalline reality to which I’d grown accustomed, and to some degree, had engaged in as a participant, but to which I had, nevertheless, grown inexplicably irrelevant. But the elements of this phenomenon are now quickly dissolving from memory and being replaced by reverse-engineered Random Access actualizations of junk code/DNA consciousness, the retro-coded catalysts of rogue cellular activity. The steel meshing titters musically and in its song, I hear a forgotten tale of the Interstitial gaps that form pinpoint vortexes at which fibers (quanta, as it were) of Reason come to a standstill, like light on the edge of a Singularity. The gaps, along their ridges, seasonally infected by the incidental wildfires in the collective unconscious substrata. Heat flanks passageways down the Interstices. Wildfires cluster—spread down the base trunk Axon in a definitive roar: hitting branches, flaring out to Dendrites to give rise to this release of the very chemical seeds through which sentience is begotten. Float about the ether, gliding a gentle current, before skimming down, to a skip over the surface of a sea of deep black with glimmering waves. And then, come to a stop, still inanimate and naked before any trespass into the Field, with all its layers that serve to veil. Plunge downward into the trenches. Swim backwards, upstream, and down through these spiraling jets of bubbles. Plummet past the threshold to trace the living history of shadows back to their source virus. And acquire this sense that the viruses as a sample, all of the outlying populations withstanding: they have their own sense of self-importance, too. Their own religion. And they mine their hosts barren with the utilitarian wherewithal that can only be expected of beings with self-preservationist motives.

In Canada, a little over half the wildfires are started by humans. In the United States, human-started wildfires account for 84 percent of all wildfires, and nearly half of all area that is burned.

Imagination is a gift. I've misused it, Hired it to Paint my walls With fear. I've learned it, Laughed at My stories Of "truth." I've burst with it, Dripped my Hopes and lies Onto you. And now I've become it, Stopped trying To control my wildfire And let it spread. Life is a gift. I'm. Opening. It.

In 1995 the budget for fighting fire made up 16 percent of the US Forest Service's budget. It rose to the 50 percent level in 2015 and could reach close to 70 percent by 2025.

I like that you’re jealous.” “Rogan, put the car back.” “Come to dinner with me tonight and I’ll consider it.” Yes! “No. I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” “If you don’t go to dinner with me, I’ll have to do something drastic like stand by your window with a boom box blasting some idiotically sappy song.

In the middle of the mayhem, you came and sang a song of melancholy. You promised a wildfire, but instead choked the light that was struggling hard for survival. Eventually when all the light went off. You left, complaining about the darkness.

The flames rose and the properties devalued into ash.

Protector and destroyer were two sides of the same coin. Who knew which one would come out in a toss-up?

Resentment is the little fire that can transform and destroy the world by becoming a wildfire.

Sensuality is a candle of passion that forever burns within us. But it's also a wildfire to some of us.

She lit wildfires inside my soul and fanned them with hurricanes.

That might sound like the plot of a b-rated horror movie, but it is all too real. Although, some people still have not accepted that truth, while others have no idea the terror that awaits them. The future of mankind is at stake, as the virus continues to spread like wildfire.

To most human beings, wind is an irritation. To most trees, wind is a song.

The virus went through that crowd faster than a California wildfire.

Those footprints in the snow led me to this wildfire.

Wildland firefighters do not enjoy the cultural prestige that structural firefighters do. They do not wax their fire engines and cruise down the local parade route, lights flashing; they are not the subject of countless popular books and movies; major politicians do not honor their sacrifices on the Senate floor or from the Rose Garden; they do not have bagpipe bands, fancy equipment, enduring icons, or other signifiers of honor verifying the importance of their activity.

You are not a gentle flower who spends its whole life in a greenhouse. You are a wildfire, Lark. A wildfire.