Gravitational systems are the ashes of prior electrical systems.
Burn worldly love, rub the ashes and make ink of it, make the heart the pen, the intellect the writer, write that which has no end or limit.
I find that I sent wolves not shepherds to govern Ireland, for they have left me nothing but ashes and carcasses to reign over!
you must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame; how could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes?
So we must love, while these moments are still called today, take part in the pain of this passion play, stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust, until time makes history of us.
Japan will not abandon the fight for the Philippines even if Tokyo should be reduced to ashes!
I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.
Tradition is the spreading of fire and not the veneration of ashes.
Instinct. When the house burns one forgets even lunch. Yes, but one eats it later in the ashes.
Ewwww-eee-wwww. Hey Ash, you vant to suck my blud? (Fang) No, thanks. The last thing I want is to catch parvo from you, or some other freaky dog disease that makes me lift my leg around hydrants. (Acheron)
She’s been hanging out with Nick. ” – Acheron “Nick? As in I-hate-your-guts-Ash-go-die Nick?” – Tory
Do me a favor. " "Don't lick your seat belt?" Ash's expression was total confusion. "Huh? where did that randomness come from?
She is all the great heroines of the world in one. She is more than an individual. I love her, and I must make her love me. I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain.
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.
History is a bucket of ashes.
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.
What passes relentlessly through the years is blood, and time; all the bitterness or warmth along the way is almost incidental. Even blood gets forgotten eventually, bleached into myth which are bleached of all colour into ashes of myth.
Brass is polished by ashes; copper is cleaned by tamarind; a woman, by her menses; and a river by its flow.
Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.
Humans are made from nuclear ash of dead stars