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“The fire. The odor of burning juniper is the sweetest fragrance on the face of the earth, in my honest judgment; I doubt if all the smoking censers of Dante's paradise could equal it. One breath of juniper smoke, like the perfume of sagebrush after rain, evokes in magical catalysis, like certain music, the space and light and clarity and piercing strangeness of the American West. Long may it burn.”
― Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

“Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream.

Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks.

There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers.

There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart.

There is mystery unfolding.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“Can I dwell on what I scarce remember? I held a castle on the Marches once, and there was a woman I was pledged to marry, but I could not find that castle today, nor tell you the color of that woman's hair. Who knighted me, old friend? What were my favorite foods? It all fades. Sometimes I think I was born on the bloody grass in that grove of ash, with the taste of fire in my mouth and a hole in my chest. Are you my mother, Thoros?”
― George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords

“When I looked, I knew I might never again see so much of the earth so beautiful, the beautiful being something you know added to something you see, in a whole that is different from the sum of its parts. What I saw might have been just another winter scene, although an impressive one. But what I knew was that the earth underneath was alive and that by tomorrow, certainly by the day after, it would be all green again. So what I saw because of what I knew was a kind of death with the marvellous promise of less than a three-day resurrection.”
― Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories

“And I shall seek you endlessly, for
I am a moth, and you’re my flame

Knowing that I’ll burn at your touch
I return, for you’re a fire; untamed”
― Zubair Ahsan

“Ice is most welcome in a cold drink on a hot day.

But in the heart of winter, you want a warm hot mug with your favorite soothing brew to keep the chill away.

When you don’t have anything warm at hand, even a memory can be a small substitute.

Remember a searing look of intimate eyes.

Receive the inner fire.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“Burn, baby, burn,�� she muttered in a hard, satisfied voice.
I cleared my throat. “As much as I hate to interrupt the supreme satisfaction you’re taking in watching the mansion blaze to the ground, I’d really
like to get out of here before the whole house collapses on top of us.”
― Jennifer Estep, By a Thread

“He envied the bark, which had been, in the course of one lifetime, both forest and fire. One endured; one destroyed.”
― Karen Joy Fowler, Sarah Canary

“Part of avoiding thoughts about something was not encouraging opportunities for that something to makes itself felt.”
― Kristin Cashore

“She held out her hand, like a man. He hesitated, then took the hand and shook it. It was very warm. You could not help but be aware of the wild passage of blood on the other side of its wall, veins, capillaries, sweat glands, tiny factories in the throes of complicated manufacture. [He] looked at the eyes and, knowing how eyes worked, was astonished, not for the first time, at the infinite complexity of Creation, wondering how this thing, this instrument for seeing, could transmit so clearly its entreaty while at the same time��-Look, I am only an eye��-denying that it was doing anything of the sort.”
― Peter Carey, Oscar and Lucinda

“We remember though all the firelit glow
Of a great hearth's gleam and glare,
And we looked for a space at each happy face
And the love that was written there.”
― Caris Brooke

“But clouds bellied out in the sultry heat, the sky cracked open with a crimson gash, spewed flame-and the ancient forest began to smoke. By morning there was a mass of booming, fiery tongues, a hissing, crashing, howling all around, half the sky black with smoke, and the bloodied sun just barely visible.

And what can little men do with their spades, ditches, and pails? The forest is no more, it was devoured by fire: stumps and ash. Perhaps illimitable fields will be plowed here one day, perhaps some new, unheard-of wheat will ripen here and men from Arkansas with shaven faces will weigh in their palms the heavy golden grain. Or perhaps a city will grow up-alive with ringing sound and motion, all stone and crystal and iron-and winged men will come here flying over seas and mountains from all ends of the world. But never again the forest, never again the blue winter silence and the golden silence of summer. And only the tellers of tales will speak in many-colored patterned words about what had been, about wolves and bears and stately green-coated century-old grandfathers, about old Russia; they will speak about all this to us who have seen it with our own eyes ten years - a hundred years! - ago, and to those others, the winged ones, who will come in a hundred years to listen and to marvel at it all as at a fairy tale. ("In Old Russia")”
― Yevgeny Zamyatin, The Dragon: Fifteen Stories

“like our parents always
told us not to like
firefighters warn against
we're playing
games and making
the rules up
as we go we're
matching
warmth to warmth
starting fires burning
wishes into our
skin we're hidden
holding
forbidden lights
we're children
whose fathers have
never taught never
touch
but we're finding
these new flames
we smother
at the sound of footsteps.”
― Naomi Shihab Nye, Time You Let Me In: 25 Poets under 25

“Every time I think I am out of the woods, I am back in the fire.”
― Robert Black

“But I will love you in this fire and blood
And I will be the keeper of your smile”
― Zubair Ahsan

“The Pavilion did not burn by lightening," she said.

He hesitated again. "It holds the memory of fire," he said at last. "Lightening is young and strong and thoughtless, but it could also wish to visit the site of some particular victory of one of its kind--as a young soldier recently commissioned might visit the scene of some great battle--”
― Robin McKinley, Chalice

“Life and other people's stories had always told her she was blue. Her father's eyes. The sea. Alice Blue. The color of orchids. Of her boots. Of fairytale queens. Of loss. But Alice's centre was red. It always was. The color of fire. Of earth. Of heart, and courage.”
― Holly Ringland, The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

“Civilization did not come with fire. It came with the discovery of how to use fire to heat water.”
― Laura Anne Gilman

“Her fierce and angry soul hides amongst the beauty of her light. She's deadly and contagious as she blazes from person to person burning all that she touches. She roams without a shadow and she doesn't want to be seen. She lives in the form on humanity and it's hard to tell. It's hard to tell who is infected with her evil and who is not. Fire, it's a dangerous thing.”
― Arti Manani, Seven Sins

“Our arrogance as a species is only a few degrees away from us claiming that we invented, not discovered, fire.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“It was just a game for you-your flames blazed brighter
And with my sizzling coals, I mistakenly thought I was the strong one-

You drew me in as easily as you put me out.”
― Maddy Kobar, Simply Not Meant To Be: Maddy Kobar's 2014-2018 Poems

“النصر على وجه الأمة كالطلاء، والهزيمة في وجهها كالوشم.
الأيام تزيل الطلاء، والنار وحدها هي التي تمحو الوشم”
― مصطفى أمين, من واحد لعشرة

“Be like the ancient elements in thinking. Like Earth, build upon a foundation of facts. Like Air, be willing to change your ideas if the winds of evidence require it. Like Fire, be unquenched in a desire for learning more. Like Water, both our ideas and the tides can be unstoppable.”
― C.A.A. Savastano

“That night my mother had what she considered a wonderful dream. She dreamed of the country of India, where she had never been. There were orange traffic cones and beautiful lapis lazuli insects with mandibles of gold. A young girl was being led through the streets. She was taken to a pyre where she was wound in a sheet and placed up on a platform built from sticks. The bright fire that consumed her brought my mother into that deep, light, dreamlike bliss. The girl was being burned alive, but, first, there had been her body, clean and whole.”
― Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

“Black fire orchid

Meaning: Desire to possess
Pyrorchis nig'ricans|Western Australia

Needs fire to flower. Sprouts from bulbs that may have lain dormant. Deep crimson streaks on pale flesh. Turns black after flowering, as if charred.”
― Holly Ringland, The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

“She floated on coral and flaxen flames. What she thought was a sea of fire was not seawater at all; it was an ocean of fiery light. Around her it rippled, constantly changing, a flare of aqua, a splash of violet, a burst of tangerine. She combed her fingers through the colors as her body was immersed.”
― Holly Ringland, The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

“In my family monarch butterflies are daughters of fire. They come from the sun carrying the souls of warriors who fought and died in battle, and return to feed on the nectar of flowers.”
― Holly Ringland, The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

“He was a late night
shot of bourbon
the taste of him
left me burning
with mouth on fire
body full of desire.”
― Melody Lee, Moon Gypsy

“She is sharp, with a witty tongue that tends to get her in trouble. She has no issue with burning a bridge and watching it go up in flames if it means staying true to herself.”
― Kristin Michelle Elizabeth

“I don't see the fire, I see colours. Beautiful colours dancing in the dark, waiting to torch the souls of many, charming them with their gentle waves until they magically transform life into the darkness of death, all with nothing but the flickering spark of the dancing flame.”
― Arti Manani, Seven Sins