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“The seasonal urge is strong in poets. Milton wrote chiefly in winter. Keats looked for spring to wake him up (as it did in the miraculous months of April and May, 1819). Burns chose autumn. Longfellow liked the month of September. Shelley flourished in the hot months. Some poets, like Wordsworth, have gone outdoors to work. Others, like Auden, keep to the curtained room. Schiller needed the smell of rotten apples about him to make a poem. Tennyson and Walter de la Mare had to smoke. Auden drinks lots of tea, Spender coffee; Hart Crane drank alcohol. Pope, Byron, and William Morris were creative late at night. And so it goes.”
― Helen Bevington, When Found, Make a Verse of

“My friends call me by my name."
"You don't have any friends."
"I don't want you to be my friend, Selia, or my servant, not now. I thought you were both. You have let me know I was wrong. So are you to treat me so. You are wrong.”
― Shannon Hale, The Goose Girl

“Is it possible that the Pentateuch could not have been written by uninspired men? that the assistance of God was necessary to produce these books? Is it possible that Galilei ascertained the mechanical principles of 'Virtual Velocity,' the laws of falling bodies and of all motion; that Copernicus ascertained the true position of the earth and accounted for all celestial phenomena; that Kepler discovered his three laws—discoveries of such importance that the 8th of May, 1618, may be called the birth-day of modern science; that Newton gave to the world the Method of Fluxions, the Theory of Universal Gravitation, and the Decomposition of Light; that Euclid, Cavalieri, Descartes, and Leibniz, almost completed the science of mathematics; that all the discoveries in optics, hydrostatics, pneumatics and chemistry, the experiments, discoveries, and inventions of Galvani, Volta, Franklin and Morse, of Trevithick, Watt and Fulton and of all the pioneers of progress—that all this was accomplished by uninspired men, while the writer of the Pentateuch was directed and inspired by an infinite God? Is it possible that the codes of China, India, Egypt, Greece and Rome were made by man, and that the laws recorded in the Pentateuch were alone given by God? Is it possible that Ʋõ³¦³ó²â±ô³Ü²õ and Shakespeare, Burns, and Beranger, Goethe and Schiller, and all the poets of the world, and all their wondrous tragedies and songs are but the work of men, while no intelligence except the infinite God could be the author of the Pentateuch? Is it possible that of all the books that crowd the libraries of the world, the books of science, fiction, history and song, that all save only one, have been produced by man? Is it possible that of all these, the bible only is the work of God?”
― Robert G. Ingersoll, Some Mistakes of Moses

“Is that not the Promethean fable, that the fire stolen from the gods will light men their way even while it burns their hands?”
― Zia Haider Rahman

“What if you’re wrong? What if I screw up and the world burns?â€�
Fadil shrugged. “Then I’ll buy marshmallows and we’ll watch it burn together.”
― Shaun David Hutchinson, The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza

“And as you see, poor Idris was...persuaded,shall we say? Yes,persuaded to tell me about Tyre and his own route back to Al-Kal'as from there. Faysal, reveal to her his pain."

The Captain of the Guard dragged Idris forward. Faysal then ripped away his shirt, and Aminah gasped. Angry scars laced his bare chest, some of the burns still crusted and weeping. Tears tumbled down Aminah's face, but Idris did not raise his head to see them. "Forgive me" he mumered.”
― Michael O. Tunnell, Moon Without Magic

“Such is true joy’s absolute certainty,
Its slow lit fuse that burns holes
In the shabby shroud of death forever.”
― Scott Hastie

“Astrid felt a towering wave of disgust. She was furious with Sam. Furious with Little Pete. Mad at the whole world around her. Sickened by everyone and everything.
And mostly, she admitted, sick of herself.
So desperately sick of being Astrid the Genius.
“Some genius,� she muttered. The town council, headed by that blond girl, what was her name? Oh right: Astrid. Astrid the Genius. Head of the town council that had let half the town burn to the ground.
Down in the basement of town hall Dahra Baidoo handed out scarce ibuprofen and expired Tylenol to kids with burns, like that would pretty much fix anything, as they waited for Lana to go one by one, healing with her touch.
Astrid could hear the cries of pain. There were several floors between her and the makeshift hospital. Not enough floors.
Edilio staggered in. He was barely recognizable. He was black with soot, dirty, dusty, with ragged scratches and scrapes and clothing hanging in shreds.
“I think we got it,� he said, and lay straight down on the floor.
Astrid knelt by his head. “You have it contained?�
But Edilio was beyond answering. He was unconscious. Done in.
Howard appeared next, in only slightly better shape. Some time during the night and morning he’d lost his smirk. He glanced at Edilio, nodded like it made perfect sense, and sank heavily into a chair.
“I don’t know what you pay that boy, but it’s not enough,� Howard said, jerking his chin at Edilio.
“He doesn’t do it for pay,� Astrid said.
“Yeah, well, he’s the reason the whole town didn’t burn. Him and Dekka and Orc and Jack. And Ellen, it was her idea.”
― Michael Grant, Lies

“I want you in my arms like roots consume rain. To warm my body beside yours like bathing in the sun. To hear the rhythm of your heart in my waking ears. Dancing in spirit around the edges of your body. Wanting your love that burns like fire when you kiss me––anywhere and everywhere. You loving every part of me––loving every part of you.”
― Luca Evola, Arabala

“Hunger neglects pride the way fire neglects the cries of what it burns.”
― Ocean Vuong, Burnings

“We were burning, in which I thought meant desire, but the fire left more than scabs.”
― Dominic Riccitello

“That fire you see can't last. Still, as it burns, it lights everything.”
― David Kirby, Get Up, Please: Poems

“The heartbeat of God burns with longing for the redemption of every individual”
― Sunday Adelaja

“The blazing fire burns!”
― Lailah Gifty Akita

“One took slippery elm and let it lie in milk until it became soft. This applied to the burns enabled to sleep better at night.”
― Sherwood Anderson, Sherwood Anderson: Short Stories

“Hatred and judgement does not build bridges to a pleasant future, it burns them. Cooperation and diplomacy are what builds them.”
― C.A.A. Savastano

“Ketut Liyer: That night in village, I got dream. Father, grandfather, great-grandfather—all the come in my dream to my house together and tell me how to heal my burned arm. They tell me make juice from saffron and sandalwood. Put the juice on burn. Then make powder from saffron and sandalwood. Rub this powder on burn. â€�
I wake up. I don't know what to do, because sometimes dreams are just joking, you understand. But I make back to my home and I put this saffron and sandalwood powder on my arm. My arm very infected, very ache, made big, very swell. But after juice and powder, became very cool. Became very cold. Start to feel better. In ten days, my arm is good. All heal.”
― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

“But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust:
An' sometimes too in warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;
But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd wi' sin.”
― Robert Burns

“I regard high voltage electricity as one of the most toxic forms of electricity. Few people that come into contact with it survive. The higher the voltage, the less likely it is the person will survive. Those that do survive are typically maimed for life. Losing limbs is common, as are extensive burns, nerve damage and scarring. Having studied it, I will no longer work with it for safety reasons.”
― Steven Magee

“I understand that there is a writer named Jonathan Franzen, but I have not read him.”
― Rebecca Solnit, The Mother of All Questions