Quotes
Quotes about Fire
There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin, The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing. To wander along by the wind-beaten hill. But the day star attracted his eyes' sad devotion, For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion He sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.
O, once in each man's life, at least, Good luck knocks at his door; And wit to seize the flitting guest Need never hunger more. But while the loitering idler waits Good luck beside his fire, The bold heart storms at fortune's gates, And conquers its desire.
When May, with cowslip-braided locks, Walks through the land in green attire. And burns in meadow-grass the phlox His torch of purple fire: . . . . And when the punctual May arrives, With cowslip-garland on her brow, We know what once she gave our lives, And cannot give us now!
Husbands are like fires. They go out if unattended.
Ne'er take a wife till thou hast a house (and a fire) to put her in.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Fire tries gold, misery tries brave men. [Lat., Ignis aurum probat, misera fortes viros.]
Lend me thy pen To write a word In the moonlight. Pierrot, my friend! My candle's out, I've no more fire;-- For love of God Open thy door! [Fr., Au clair de la lune Mon ami Pierrot, Prete moi ta plume Pour ecrire un mot; Ma chandelle est morte, Je n'ai plus de feu, Ouvre moi ta porte, Pour l'amour de Dieu.]
Motivation is a fire from within. If someone else tries to light that fire under you, chances are it will burn very briefly.
That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it; For who digs hills because they do aspire Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher.
When sleep leaves the body like smoke and man, sated with secrets, drives the overworked nag of quarrel out of its stall, then the fire-breathing union begins anew . . .
Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children's faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.
By reading the scriptures I am so renewed that all nature seems renewed around me and with me. The sky seems to be a pure, a cooler blue, the trees a deeper green. The whole world is charged with the glory of God and I feel fire and music under my feet.
I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips.
Wise anger is like fire from a flint: there is great ado to get it out; and when it does come, it is out again immediately.
There is no arguing with him, for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it.
To most people loneliness is a doom. Yet loneliness is the very thing which God has chosen to be one of the schools of training for His very own. It is the fire that sheds the dross and reveals the gold.
Argument is conclusive... but... it does not remove doubt, so that the mind may rest in the sure knowledge of the truth, unless it finds it by the method of experiment. For if any man who never saw fire proved by satisfactory arguments that fire burns. his hearer's mind would never be satisfied, nor would he avoid the fire until he put his hand in it that he might learn by experiment what argument taught.
Up in the heights of the evening skies I see my City of Cities float In sunset's golden and crimson dyes: I look and a great joy clutches my throat! Plateau of roofs by canyons crossed: windows by thousands fire-furled-- O gazing, how the heart is lost in the Deepest City in the World.
A song to the oak, the brave old oak, Who hath ruled in the greenwood long; Here's health and renown to his broad green crown, And his fifty arms so strong. There's fear in his frown when the Sun goes down, And the fire in the West fades out; And he showeth his might on a wild midnight, When the storms through his branches shout.
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning; One pain is less'ned by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
The passions are like fire, useful in a thousand ways and dangerous only in one, through their excess.
Strike--for your altars and your fires; Strike--for the green graves of your sires. God--and your native land!
American is the crucible of God. It is the melting pot where all the races are fusing and reforming . . . these are the fires of God you've come to. . . . Into the crucible with you all. God is making the American.
