Psychoanalysis feeds on intensity, as though life were all flame and no ash.
How to re-light the fire the very ashes of which are scattered?
People who fight fire with fire usually end up with ashes.
I've changed my mind. I've decided that at the end I want to be cremated and my ashes scattered over someone I don't like.
Dead news like dead love has no phoenix in its ashes.
We flew over to England by the same route Churchill took. It was easy. All we had to do was follow the cigar ashes.
When we get ashes we are not publicly proclaiming our greatness, but God’s. We are not saying, 'look at how great I am,' but 'ask me about how great my God is!'
Oh, no! my heart can never be Again in lightest hopes the same; The love that lingers there for thee Hath more of ashes than of flame.
Stars are phoenixes, rising from their own ashes.
I'm a sinner. I don't always love God as strongly as I could or as directly as I should. Ash Wednesday reminds me that it is only through God that I have life; He gave it to me. God forgives. He loves. And He gives this sinner a second chance. Put simply: my God kicks ash.
My dog does not care where heat comes from, but he cares that it comes, and soon. Indeed he considers my ability to make it come as something magical, for when I rise in the coal black pre-dawn and kneel by the hearth to make a fire, he pushes himself blandly between me and the kindling splits I have laid in the ashes, and I must touch a match to them by poking it between his legs. Such faith , I suppose, is the kind that moves mountains.
Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.
You know Americans are obsessed with life and death and rebirth, that's the American Cycle. You know, awakening, tragic, horrible death and then Phoenix rising from the ashes. That's the American story, again and again.
Glory arrives too late when it comes only to one's ashes
I want the freedom to carve and chisel my own face, to staunch the bleeding with ashes, to fashion my own gods out of my entrails.
Love. Of course, love. Flames for a year, ashes for thirty.
She’s been hanging out with Nick. ” – Acheron “Nick? As in I-hate-your-guts-Ash-go-die Nick?” – Tory
Meantime, the world in which we exist has other aims. But it will pass away, burnt up in the fire of its own hot passions; and from its ashes will spring a new and younger world, full of fresh hope, woth the light of morning in its eyes.
The master says it’s a glorious thing to die for the Faith and Dad says it’s a glorious thing to die for Ireland and I wonder if there’s anyone in the world who would like us to live.
When I die, sprinkle my ashes over the 80's.