You’re mine, Echo, and I’ll treasure you forever.

Stop setting yourself on fire for people who just stand to watch you burn.

The stars are brilliant at this time of night and I wander these streets like a ritual I don’t dare to break for darling, the times are quite glorious.I left him by the water’s edge,still waving long after the ship was goneand if someone would have screamed my name I wouldn’t have heard for I’ve...

I often find that people confuse inner peace with some sense of insensibility whenever something goes wrong. In such cases inner peace is a permit for destruction: The unyielding optimist will pretend that the forest is not burning either because he is too lazy or too afraid to go and put the fire out.

Love burns. Whiskey burns. George Burns. What do all three have in common? They’re all dead to me.

They have a way of rising from the ashes,” said Andreus.

It is difficult to undo our own damage, and to recall to our presence that which we have asked to leave. It is hard to desecrate a grove and change your mind. The very holy mountains are keeping mum. We doused the burning bush and cannot rekindle it; we are lighting matches in vain under...

Whiskey burns—my throat, not a forest. Love burns—my heart, not a forest. As for the forest, it burnt itself. At least that’s what I told the police during their interrogation.

I’m thinking maybe letting the latches burn is the right idea. Let everything burn until there’s nothing left but ashes and cool rain.

It was a pleasure to burn.It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing...

With school turning out more runners, jumpers, racers, tinkerers, grabbers, snatchers, fliers, and swimmers instead of examiners, critics, knowers, and imaginative creators, the word ‘intellectual,’ of course, became the swear word it deserved to be. You always dread the unfamiliar. Surely you remember the boy in your own school class who was exceptionally ‘bright,’ did...

The problem is that I am in the wrong century to burn things. I am the wrong generation to let it go.

Sometimes words come out of me and I don’t know where they come from or why. They’re like falling stars tumbling through the universe; bright, burning things that can’t be stopped.

It’s just me throwing myself at you,romance as usual, us times us,not lust but moxibustion,a substance burning closeto the body as possiblewithout risk of immolation.

I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I’m right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women and children. There will be no survivors.” The shock I’ve been feeling begins to give way to fury. “I want to tell people that if...

If the Pentateuch is inspired, the civilization of of our day is a mistake and crime. There should be no political liberty. Heresy should be trodden out beneath the bigot’s brutal feet. Husbands should divorce their wives at will, and make the mothers of their children houseless and weeping wanderers. Polygamy ought to be practiced;...

It occurred to me that my cheek was probably right over his tattoo. Without thinking, I lifted my face and tugged at the neckline of his T-shirt. This time, the stark black-and-gold mark wasn’t hidden. No need for that spell anymore, I guess. Still, I covered it with my palm. Archer’s hands clutched reflexively on...

With widened eyes she stumbled backwards, not able to take her gaze from the flames engulfing the wooden shed right in front of them, wrapping it into their embrace before taking it over. Black parts of smutted wood started to glow, welcoming the tongues of fire that devoured the shed inch by inch.

Tearing your clothes, burning your books and torturing yourself only prove that you are nothing but a wild creature.

Burning the witch Giordano Bruno is one more wound inflicted on Christ’s body.

They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix;...

the intensityin your eyesburns my penas i write.

Is it a world in the makingthat turns as it whistles to the depths of my beingIt is burningSuppose it were to appearA bleeding rosary at the windowa sun setting on the marshlands(“Silver Clasp”)

In past wars only homes burnt, but this timeDon’t be surprised if even loneliness ignites.In past wars only bodys burnt, but this timeDon’t be surprised if even shadows ignite.

The world has a very serious problem, my friend’ Shiva went on. ‘Poor children still die by their millions. Westerners and the global rich — like me — live in post-scarcity society, while a billion people struggle to get enough to eat. And we’re pushing the planet towards a tipping point, where the corals die...

You never forget your first and true love, Ayden Grey. Not officially, not ever.

Too bad we don’t have marshmallows. This is an amazing fire.” Howard emerged through the smoke behind Edilio.

Maybe you who condemn me are in greater fear than I who am condemned.

You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. He had wondered once why love was always phrased in terms of burning. The conflagration in his own veins, now, gave the answer.

my dear, I have nothing to say.my heart burns like the evening sky.

I described the euro as a burning building with no exits and so it has proved for some of the countries in it.

At the end of her life she was aware of heat but not pain. She had time to consider his eyes, eyes of that blue which is the color of the sky at first light of the morning. She had time to think of him on the Drop, riding Rusher flat out with his black...

We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it.

Instead of burning the midnight oil, you should try selling it.

If your house was burning, what would you grab? I’d grab my penis. Repeatedly.

Christ was the son, I am a magnifying glass, and you are an ant.

I am Envy…I cannot read and therefore wish all books burned.

I could burn this place downAs many times as I’d like in my mind,Without any sympathy For the girl or her motherWho live beneath me