Aflame Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
i-should-stay-away-but-what-can-i-do-i-hear-your-name-im-aflame-aflame-with-such-burning-desire-that-only-your-kiss-can-put-out-fire-ella-fitzgerald
when-oceans-are-set-aflame-attakwir-6
love-has-set-our-hearts-aflame
buxom-calonice-green-eyes-aflame
with-fire-acts-ravana-is-heaven-brilliant-hell-aflame-william-buck
i-feel-stars-each-sparkle-sets-aflame-pain-in-my-heart-donna-jo-napoli
jack-leaped-over-gate-his-sword-aflame-to-vanquish-his-foe-rescue-his-love-melissa-de-la-cruz
this-is-truth-as-from-fire-aflame-thousands-sparks-come-forth-even-from-creator-infinity-beings-have-life-to-him-return-again-marcus-tullius-cicero
terror-will-seize-them-pain-anguish-will-grip-them-they-will-writhe-like-woman-in-labor-they-will-look-aghast-at-each-other-their-faces-aflame-isaiah-138
earth-is-crammed-with-heaven-every-bush-is-aflame-with-glory-god-but-only-those-who-see-take-their-shoes-rest-just-pick-berries-elizabeth-browning
as-a-single-withered-tree-if-set-aflame-causes-a-whole-forest-to-burn-so-does-a-rascal-son-destroy-a-whole-family
the-demon-lord-was-set-aflame-and-spread-his-wings-around-world-to-burn-to-maim-to-suffocate-and-to-restore-balance-thou-art-lord
among-hundred-windows-shiningdully-in-vast-sideof-greaterthanpalace-number-suchsuchone-burnsthese-several-years-each-nightas-if-room-within-were-denise-levertov
a-mans-greatest-moment-in-life-is-when-his-enemy-lays-vanquished-his-village-aflame-his-herds-driven-before-you-his-weeping-wives-daughters-are-genghis-khan
confidence-is-not-wilted-plant-that-can-be-brought-back-to-life-with-bit-water-it-is-highly-flammable-object-doubt-sets-it-aflame-destroys-it-irreparably-michele-halberstadt
he-said-my-lord-my-bones-have-become-feeble-my-hair-is-aflame-with-gray-never-lord-have-i-been-disappointed-in-my-prayer-to-you-maryam-4
reaching-out-i-touch-anothers-skin-breathing-out-as-hes-breathing-in-deep-inside-i-feel-my-soul-aflame-can-my-life-ever-be-same-olivia-newtonjohn
each-them-has-only-one-moment-moment-when-it-soars-screaming-like-phoenix-all-its-pages-aflame-for-that-single-moment-we-love-them-ever-after-although-they-soon-turn-to-ashes-bru
the-soul-must-long-for-god-in-order-to-be-set-aflame-by-gods-love-but-if-soul-cannot-yet-feel-longing-then-it-must-long-for-longing-to-long-for-meister-eckhart
Thus spoke the Beauty and her voice had a cheerful ring, and her face was aflame with a great rejoicing. She finished her story and began to laugh quietly, but not cheerfully. The Youth bowed down before her and silently kissed her hands, inhaling the languid fragrance of myrrh, aloe and musk which wafted from her body and her fine robes. The Beauty began to speak again. 'There came to me streams of oppressors, because my evil, poisonous beauty bewitches them. I smile at them, they who are doomed to death, and I feel pity for each of them, and some I almost loved, but I gave myself to no one. Each one I gave but one single kiss - and my kisses were innocent as the kisses of a tender sister. And whomsoever I kissed, died.' The soul of the troubled Youth was caught in agony, between two quite irresolvable passions, the terror of death and an inexpressible ecstasy. But love, conquering all, overcoming even the anguish of death's grief, was triumphant once again today. Solemnly stretching out his trembling hands to the tender and terrifying Beauty, the Youth exclaimed, 'If death is in your kiss, o beloved, let me revel in the infinity of death. Cling to me, kiss me, love me, envelop me with the sweet fragrance of your poisonous breath, death after death pour into my body and into my soul before you destroy everything that once was me!' 'You want to! You are not afraid!' exclaimed the Beauty. The face of the Beauty was pale in the rays of the lifeless moon, like a guttering candle, and the lightning in her sad and joyful eyes was trembling and blue. With a trusting movement, tender and passionate, she clung to the Youth and her naked, slender arms were entwined about his neck. 'We shall die together!' she whispered. 'We shall die together. All the poison of my heart is afire and flaming streams are rushing through my veins, and I am all enveloped in some great holocaust.' 'I am aflame!' whispered the Youth, 'I am being consumed in your embraces and you and I are two flaming fires, burning with the immense ecstasy of a poisonous love.' The sad and lifeless moon grew dim and fell in the sky - and the black night came and stood watch. It concealed the secret of love and kisses, fragrant and poisonous, with gloom and solitude. And it listened to the harmonious beating of two hearts growing quieter, and in the frail silence it watched over the final delicate sighs. And so, in the poisonous Garden, having breathed the fragrances which the Beauty breathed, and having drunk the sweetness of her love so tenderly and fatally compassionate, the beautiful Youth died. And on his breast the Beauty died, having delivered her poisonous but fragrant soul up to sweet ecstasies. ("The Poison Garden")

Valery Bryusov
thus-spoke-beauty-her-voice-had-cheerful-ring-her-face-was-aflame-with-great-rejoicing-she-finished-her-story-began-to-laugh-quietly-but-not-cheerfully-the-youth-bowed-down-befor
was-it-moment-indecision-was-it-moment-redemption-redemption-long-overdue-long-unacknowledged-they-didnt-know-he-suddenly-went-at-her-mouth-she-claimed-it-as-if-it-was-never-supp
Jenks and I stood there like statues watching him twitch, his eyes rolling up in his head. He clutched at his clothes pulling the wooden pole they hung from down on top of him. Slowly his right hand came scrambling out away from his body to clutch at my left leg. Without thinking I shoved my crucifix at him and he pulled his hand back with a hiss, shielding his face again. As quickly as I could, I dug my tubes of Holy Water out of my coat pocket and emptied them on his head. He shrieked again and clawed at his face. Jenks followed suit, pouring his two vials on Skorzeny's body and legs. Skorzeny started to foam and bubble before our eyes. I was paralyzed. I couldn't quite believe what was happening. Those books hadn't described any of this. I was feeling dizzy and sick. The shrieks turned to groans and a gurgling deep in his throat. He pulled his hands away from his face and it looked like the disintegrating Portrait of Dorian Gray. I looked over to Jenks who had an odd expression on his face. I looked over to Jenks who had on odd expression on his face. He motioned to me and reached for my left hand which, I noticed, was still clutching the airline hag with the stake and hammer in it. I dropped it and he grabbed it off the floor, moving over to the smoking form still squirming in the closet which smelled even more foul than before, and oozing a greenish yellow pus from the crumpled clothing on his scarecrow frame. Jenks looked back at me and handed me the stake and hammer. 'Go ahead. This was your idea. Finish it.' I declined, turning away. Jenks spun me around violently and thrust the stake into my left hand. He pushed me toward what was left of Skorzeny and forced me to my knees. He forced my hand toward Skorzeny, positioning the stake over the man's chest. Then he stuck the hammer in my right hand. 'Do it, you gutless sonofabitch. Finish it... now!' And he stepped away. I looked at him and back at Skorzeny. Then I gave one vicious swing and hit the stake dead center. The thing made a gurgling grunt, like a pig snuffling for food, and started to regurgitate a blackish fluid from its mouth. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and hit the stake three more times. Then I fell back and threw up. When I looked back, Skorzeny's hands, or what was left of them, clutched at the stake trying to pull it out. Suddenly, he emitted a kind of moaning, sucking sound, gagged and more bile-colored liquid flecked with black and red came coiling up in a viscous rope like some evil worm from his mouth. And he stopped moving, his hands still clutching the stake. Then a sort of gaseous mist started to rise from his body and it was so much worse than the original smell that I pushed Jenks aside and ran from the house. I ran all the way to a patrol car where I slumped against the left front wheel as Jenks slowly strolled toward me. He walked past me, ignoring me, and opened his trunk, taking out a couple of small gas cans, and headed back to the house. I wasn't paying much attention until he left the house again and I saw it was aflame.

Jeff Rice
jenks-i-stood-there-like-statues-watching-him-twitch-his-eyes-rolling-up-in-his-head-he-clutched-at-his-clothes-pulling-wooden-pole-they-hung-from-down-on-top-him-slowly-his-righ
Faded icon of the gilded halo, Once illuminating, inspiring; Admirers, enemies, lovers, family, A distant memory trodden under foot. Evanescent existence; flickering fame, A quintessence of reflections Incidentally etched on ancient relics. Can we conjure your presence? We barely remember Joseph Warren as the person who dispatched Paul Revere on his famous ride, and as the hero of the Battle of Bunker Hill, where he was killed in action. It wasn't always that way. For almost a century Warren was one of the most important and remembered founders of the fledgling American nation. John Trumbull's painting 'Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker's Hill, ' a renowned icon of American history, dates from that period. In it scarlet uniformed British soldiers, heavily armed and personally led by their officers, have just overwhelmed American entrenchments atop Breed's Hill, within sight across the Mystic River of Boston. In the background loom the eponymous Bunker Hill and the village of Charlestown, its houses and churches aflame, a smoky cloud framing the battlefield. The Americans, a motley amalgam of raw militia, countrymen and workers, try unsuccessfully to fend off the onslaught. New England's Pine Tree flag still stands within the American dirt fort in the unseasonably hot and breezeless early summer afternoon. The red coated attackers, brandishing the colors of the United Kingdom, will take it down in a moment. It is June 17, 1775: The defenders of an embryonic American Liberty are about to be defeated in a British Pyrrhic victory. In the forefront, Colonel William Prescott commands the Americans while rotund General Israel Putnam vainly shouts orders in the background. British Generals Burgoyne and Clinton command the British attackers as Major John Pitcairn, leader of the marines falters, mortally wounded, yet still supported by a soldier. British and Americans have fallen indiscriminately on the field among the detritus of battle. In the foreground, a finely dressed figure lies prostrate, his sword dropped to the earth. Prescott wards off a bayonet thrust by an onrushing British infantryman. It is a thrust the enemy's own superior officer, Colonel Small, curiously appears to want deflected. But the targeted figure already lies supine, looking skyward in a saintly blank stare. He is suspended momentarily in a halo of tranquility amongst the mayhem. This dying man can no longer smell the acrid, dense black powder smoke that hangs low in the windless oppressive heat, obscuring the afternoon sun. He pays no heed to the shouts of men nor the eerie lull in the previously deafening gunfire. The animation, his admonishments of others to action, the thrill and fear of battle, all suddenly calm. A single bullet annihilates in an instant inspiring words, the force of personality, the martial spirit in action, the reality and complexity of a human being. Dr. Joseph Warren, the central figure, moves from life to legend. Trumbull's iconic painting raises unanswered questions about its subject. How did a physician come to assume such a responsible role in this engagement? How did he meet his fate within sight of his home town? Why was he famous throughout the young United States as a model for involved citizenship? Was there any truth to the cynicism of his political enemies? Most compelling of all-why has this once beloved leader been so long and unjustifiably forgotten? This biography of Joseph Warren answers these and other questions. It utilizes modern analytical methods, uncovers new material, and sheds new light on 'established' facts... Please join me in getting to know Joseph Warren, accompanying him on his lifetime's journey to Bunker Hill, and considering the fate of his reputation and memory long after his heroic demise.

Sam Forman
faded-icon-gilded-halo-once-illuminating-inspiring-admirers-enemies-lovers-family-a-distant-memory-trodden-under-foot-evanescent-existence-flickering-fame-a-quintessence-reflecti
?Earn cash when you save a quote by clicking
EARNED Load...
LEVEL : Load...