Scorched 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
and-when-the-sun-was-up-they-were-scorched-and-because-they-had-no-root-they-withered-away
but-when-the-sun-was-up-it-was-scorched-and-because-it-had-no-root-it-withered-away
i-only-understand-friendship-scorched-earth-roger-ailes
this-is-crowd-rushing-headlong-with-you-there-is-no-welcome-for-them-they-will-be-scorched-by-fire-saad-59
but-when-sun-came-up-plants-were-scorched-they-withered-because-they-had-no-root-mark-46
breach-addicted-infamous-queen-graveyard-now-scorched-avenues-silhouettes
can-man-walk-on-hot-coals-without-his-feet-being-scorched-proverbs-628
after-them-seven-other-heads-grain-sproutedthin-scorched-by-east-wind-genesis-416
truth-is-torch-but-terrific-one-therefore-we-all-try-to-reach-it-with-closed-eyes-lest-we-should-be-scorched-johann-wolfgang-von-goethe
after-them-seven-other-heads-sproutedwithered-thin-scorched-by-east-wind-genesis-4123
you-are-really-angry-with-me-for-not-having-appeared-to-you-in-red-glow-with-thunder-lightning-with-scorched-wings-fyodor-dostoyevsky
oh-come-that-boot-is-on-other-leg-why-should-you-call-me-to-account-for-eating-decently-if-i-battened-on-scorched-corpses-animals-you-might-well-george-bernard-shaw
by-wrath-lord-almighty-land-will-be-scorched-people-will-be-fuel-for-fire-no-one-will-spare-his-brother-isaiah-919
revenge-its-dream-flames-fueled-by-scorched-remains-that-are-lit-to-torch-brought-back-upon-one-who-burned-you-august-verona
and-men-were-scorched-with-great-heat-and-blasphemed-the-name-of-god-which-hath-power-over-these-plagues-and-they-repented-not-to-give-him-glory
blessed-are-pure-in-heart-how-will-people-believe-that-unless-we-ourselves-are-worshipping-living-god-until-our-own-hearts-are-set-on-fire-scorched-n-t-wright
god-sets-lonely-in-families-he-leads-forth-prisoners-with-singing-but-rebellious-live-in-sunscorched-land-psalm-686
the-lord-will-guide-you-always-he-will-satisfy-your-needs-in-sunscorched-land-will-strengthen-your-frame-you-will-be-like-wellwatered-garden-like-isaiah-5811
we-aint-seen-no-reconstruction-here-just-scorched-earth-all-around-and-high-school-band-played-dixieland-while-they-tore-our-tattered-flags-banners-warren-zevon
the-point-is-to-strip-down-get-protestant-then-even-more-naked-walk-over-scorched-bricks-to-find-your-own-soul-your-heart-searching-dog-in-rubble-barry-hannah
what-do-you-want-to-trust-me-with-tonight-a-sigh-escaped-forcefully-waving-white-flag-that-i-was-melted-scorched-woman-at-those-words-anything-i-whispered-back-shelly-crane
their-people-drained-power-are-dismayed-put-to-shame-they-are-like-plants-in-field-like-tender-green-shoots-like-grass-sprouting-on-roof-scorched-isaiah-3727
there-is-peculiar-burning-odor-in-room-like-explosives-kitchen-fills-with-smoke-hot-sweet-ashy-smell-scorched-cookies-the-war-has-begun
the-seven-lean-ugly-cows-that-came-up-afterward-are-seven-years-are-seven-worthless-heads-grain-scorched-by-east-wind-they-are-seven-years-genesis-4127
nothing-new-about-death-nothing-new-about-deaths-caused-militarily-we-scorched-boiled-baked-to-death-more-people-in-tokyo-on-that-night-march-910-than-went-up-in-vapor-at-hiroshi
too-much-damned-tv-thinks-hes-sherlock-holmes-thats-professor-moriarty-corrected-foaly-holmes-moriarty-they-both-look-same-with-flesh-scorched-off-eoin-colfer
if-my-twelveyearold-self-whom-i-had-grown-rather-fond-thinking-about-him-were-to-reproach-me-why-have-you-grown-up-such-dull-dog-when-i-gave-you-such-good-start-why-have-you-spen
The part of thinking that's easy to handle is the part that works by analogy with speech. Thinking in words, speaking our thoughts internally, projects an auditorium inside our skulls. Dark or bright, a shadow theater or a stage scorched by klieg lights, here we try out voices, including the voice we have settled on as the familiar sound of our identity, although it may not be what other people hear when we speak aloud. But that is the topmost of the linguistic processes going on in the mind. Beneath the auditorium runs a continuous river of thought that not only is soundless but is not ordered so it can be spoken. For obvious reasons, describing it is difficult. If I dip experimentally into the wordless flow, and then try to recall the sensations of it, I have the impression of a state in which grammar is present - for when I think like this I am certainly construing lucid relationships between different kinds of meaning, and making sense of the world by distinguishing between (for a start) objects and actions - but thought there are so to speak nounlike and verblike concentrations in the flow, I do not solidify them, I do not break them off into word-sized units. Are there pictures? Yes, but I am not watching a slide show, the images do not come in units either. Sometimes there's a visual turbulence - rapid, tumbling, propelled - that doesn't resolve into anything like the outlines of separate images. Sometimes one image, like a key, will hold steady while a whole train of wordless thoughts flows from its start to its finish. A mountain. A closed box. A rusty hinge.

Francis Spufford
the-part-thinking-thats-easy-to-handle-is-part-that-works-by-analogy-with-speech-thinking-in-words-speaking-our-thoughts-internally-projects-auditorium-inside-our-skulls-dark-bri
STAINS With red clay between my toes, and the sun setting over my head, the ghost of my mother blows in, riding on a honeysuckle breeze, oh lord, riding on a honeysuckle breeze. Her teeth, the keys of a piano. I play her grinning ivory notes with cadenced fumbling fingers, splattered with paint, textured with scars. A song rises up from the belly of my past and rocks me in the bosom of buried memories. My mama's dress bears the stains of her life: blueberries, blood, bleach, and breast milk; She cradles in her arms a lifetime of love and sorrow; Its brilliance nearly blinds me. My fingers tire, as though I've played this song for years. The tune swells red, dying around the edges of a setting sun. A magnolia breeze blows in strong, a heavenly taxi sent to carry my mother home. She will not say goodbye. For there is no truth in spoken farewells. I am pregnant with a poem, my life lost in its stanzas. My mama steps out of her dress and drops it, an inheritance falling to my feet. She stands alone: bathed, blooming, burdened with nothing of this world. Her body is naked and beautiful, her wings gray and scorched, her brown eyes piercing the brown of mine. I watch her departure, her flapping wings: She doesn't look back, not even once, not even to whisper my name: Brenda. I lick the teeth of my piano mouth. With a painter's hands, with a writer's hands with rusty wrinkled hands, with hands soaked in the joys, the sorrows, the spills of my mother's life, I pick up eighty-one years of stains And pull her dress over my head. Her stains look good on me.

Brenda Sutton Rose
stains-with-red-clay-between-my-toes-sun-setting-over-my-head-ghost-my-mother-blows-in-riding-on-honeysuckle-breeze-oh-lord-riding-on-honeysuckle-breeze-her-teeth-keys-piano-i-pl
Religion, with its metaphysical error of absolute guilt, dominated the broadest, the cosmic realm. From there, it infiltrated the subordinate realms of biological, social and moral existence with its errors of the absolute and inherited guilt. Humanity, split up into millions of factions, groups, nations and states, lacerated itself with mutual accusations. "The Greeks are to blame, " the Romans said, and "The Romans are to blame, " the Greeks said. So they warred against one another. "The ancient Jewish priests are to blame, " the early Christians shouted. "The Christians have preached the wrong Messiah, " the Jews shouted and crucified the harmless Jesus. "The Muslims and Turks and Huns are guilty, " the crusaders screamed. "The witches and heretics are to blame, " the later Christians howled for centuries, murdering, hanging, torturing and burning heretics. It remains to investigate the sources from which the Jesus legend derives its grandeur, emotional power and perseverance. Let us continue to stay outside this St. Vitus dance. The longer we look around, the crazier it seems. Hundreds of minor patriarchs, self-proclaimed kings and princes, accused one another of this or that sin and made war, scorched the land, brought famine and epidemics to the populations. Later, this became known as "history." And the historians did not doubt the rationality of this history. Gradually the common people appeared on the scene. "The Queen is to blame, " the people's representatives shouted, and beheaded the Queen. Howling, the populace danced around the guillotine. From the ranks of the people arose Napoleon. "The Austrians, the Prussians, the Russians are to blame, " it was now said. "Napoleon is to blame, " came the reply. "The machines are to blame!" the weavers screamed, and "The lumpenproletariat is to blame, " sounded back. "The Monarchy is to blame, long live the Constitution!" the burgers shouted. "The middle classes and the Constitution are to blame; wipe them out; long live the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, " the proletarian dictators shout, and "The Russians are to blame, " is hurled back. "Germany is to blame, " the Japanese and the Italians shouted in 1915. "England is to blame, " the fathers of the proletarians shouted in 1939. And "Germany is to blame, " the self-same fathers shouted in 1942. "Italy, Germany and Japan are to blame, " it was said in 1940. It is only by keeping strictly outside this inferno that one can be amazed that the human animal continues to shriek "Guilty!" without doubting its own sanity, without even once asking about the origin of this guilt. Such mass psychoses have an origin and a function. Only human beings who are forced to hide something catastrophic are capable of erring so consistently and punishing so relentlessly any attempt at clarifying such errors.

Wilhelm Reich
religion-with-its-metaphysical-error-absolute-guilt-dominated-broadest-cosmic-realm-from-there-it-infiltrated-subordinate-realms-biological-social-moral-existence-with-its-errors
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