Quotes & Sayings About Burning Bright

But only a few have the will -- be it born of courage or recklessness, folly or sublime wisdom -- to act and, by their action, transform themselves. They will pay for their courage, of course; the world does not treat its "others" lightly. But so will the rest of us -- the ones who love them -- haunted as we are by our envy of their bright, burning beauty, which we can bear neither to look at nor to turn away from. — Ed Tarkington

And so a pattern develops: wake, work cry. sleep. I can't even escape him in my dreams. Gray burning eyes, his lost look, his hair burnished and bright and bright all haunt me. And the music ... so much music-I cannot bear to hear any music. I am careful to avoid it at all costs. Even the jingles in commercials make me shudder. — E.L. James

In Memory of M. B.

Here is my gift, not roses on your grave,
not sticks of burning incense.
You lived aloof, maintaining to the end
your magnificent disdain.
You drank wine, and told the wittiest jokes,
and suffocated inside stifling walls.
Alone you let the terrible stranger in,
and stayed with her alone.
Now you're gone, and nobody says a word
about your troubled and exalted life.
Only my voice, like a flute, will mourn
at your dumb funeral feast.
Oh, who would have dared believe that half-crazed I,
I, sick with grief for the buried past,
I, smoldering on a slow fire,
having lost everything and forgotten all,
would be fated to commemorate a man
so full of strength and will and bright inventions,
who only yesterday it seems, chatted with me,
hiding the tremor of his mortal pain. — Anna Akhmatova

He lowered the window, and looked out at the rising sun. There was a ridge of ploughed land, with a plough upon it where it had been left last night when the horses were unyoked; beyond, a quiet coppice-wood, in which many leaves of burning red and golden yellow still remained upon the trees. Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, and the sun rose bright, placid, and beautiful. — Charles Dickens

While the train flashed through never-ending miles of ripe wheat, by country towns and bright-flowered pastures and oak groves wilting in the sun, we sat in the observation car, where the woodwork was hot to the touch and red dust lay deep over everything. The dust and heat, the burning wind, reminded us of many things. We were talking about what it is like to spend one's childhood in little towns like these, buried in wheat and corn, under stimulating extremes of climate: burning summers when the world lies green and billowy beneath a brilliant sky, when one is fairly stifled in vegetation, in the color and smell of strong weeds and heavy harvests; blustery winters with little snow, when the whole country is stripped bare and gray as sheet-iron. We agreed that no one who had not grown up in a little prairie town could know anything about it. It was a kind of freemasonry, we said. — Willa Cather

In the dim, wavering light, a page hung open and it was like a snowy feather, the words delicately painted thereon. In all the rush and fervor, Montag had only an instant to read a line, but it blazed in his mind for the next minute as if stamped there with fiery steel. — Ray Bradbury

He was a finisher who could not finish. He was the heart of a hunter who lacked the heart to kill.
In her journal she had written I am humanity, and something in those three words split him in two.
She was the may fly, here for a day, then gone. She was the last star, burning bright in a sea of limitless black.
Erase the human.
In a burst of blinding light, the star Cassiopeia exploded and the world went black.
Evan Walker had been undone. — Rick Yancey

Noah was a funeral pyre. He was burning. The flames rose to staggering heights and blazed in white, hot tongues. Jeremie had once told him a story of the burial rites of the Norse. They'd burn their dead, believing the high smoke carried their loved ones' souls to Valhalla.

Noah was beyond Valhalla. Beyond the creamy spaciousness above the clouds, beyond the limits of the very earth. He floated among the stars, joined them in holy communion, knew each one by name. Then they were within him, scores of them, bright and hot, turning his ribs into a furnace as they shifted and created constellations in his soul. And all the while, the summer sang in his lungs.

There was no space between him and Jeremie. Where one ended, the other began, and still Jeremie pulled him closer like the moon pulls the tide, gripping him tightly in the same way he'd gripped Noah's heart, had gripped his entire being. — Lily Velez

Reading is like a roaring fire, it stokes the imagination and keeps it burning bright! — Kelley Lovelace

Oh, what is brighter than the light?
What is darker than the night?
What is keener than an axe?
What is softer than melting wax?
Truth is brighter than the light,
Falsehood darker than the night.
Revenge is keener than an axe,
And love is softer than melting wax. — Cassandra Clare

She was the last star, burning bright in a sea of limitless black. — Rick Yancey

Your face is burning so bright, I'm afraid for the draperies. Are you all right?"
Fortunately, no one ever died of embarrassment. "Must be the sun. I always end up looking like a tomato."
"Right," her friends drawled. "Because the sun is so very hot through those thick rain clouds."
"Oh, shut up!" Emily laughed despite herself. "I'm blushing and I've not intention of explaining why. — Kady Cross

In my mind, I see all of my passionate memories in bright, burning Red. — Taylor Swift

She swung around, her hair flying about her like wildfire. Fire. The fireplace.

She reached in with all the power Todd had taught her ti exercise and grasped as much as she could. She imagined gasoline spilling onto the logs, leaving trails of burning kerosene around the room. In her mind bright orange and red exploded in dazzling sparks. The oxygen seemed to thicken and swell around her.

Then the entire room was alight with flame. — Deidre Huesmann

Men like him, the kind of guys who left the womb fighting? They didn't get fairy-tale endings. They burned bright until they burned out - and he was burning out. — Tonya Burrows

Let us help."
"You already did." My voice didn't betray anything. "Both of you helped plan this. You lent me this
car. Aubrey put up the funds."
He raised his brow. "Lending you this car doesn't count as helping. It was more like public service.
If you drove your car, the noise would wake up all of Haverleau."
"It's not that bad - "
"Yeah, if you want to be as obvious as a rhinoceros."
I gave a pointed look at his lime-green coat and bright maroon sweater.
Talk about burning my retinas. "Pot calling kettle."
He glanced at himself. "It's seasonal. I look Christmasy. — Emma Raveling

I want you," he says with a gruff tenderness. "I want more of you. And I don't care how I get it."
I search his eyes, greener now than they have ever been. They're bright and burning and I know he wants me. I can feel it in my bones, and the thrill is like a million bombs going off at once. How did this even happen? I'm absolutely spellbound by him.
I clear my throat, but even so my words are quiet. "You have me. — Karina Halle

Three heavy blows boxed him low in the back. He saw a splash of red hit the door and had time to think, 'We should have remembered the body armor.' Then he crumpled, still holding onto the knob with one hand as the world rushed away from him. Everything he was and everything he'd ever known diminished to a single burning-bright point of light. Then it went out. His hand slipped off the knob. He died on his knees, leaning against the door. — Stephen King

I would not have a god come in
To shield me suddenly from sin,
And set my house of life to rights;
Nor angels with bright burning wings
Ordering my earthly thoughts and things;
Rather my own frail guttering lights
Wind blown and nearly beaten out;
Rather the terror of the nights
And long, sick groping after doubt;
Rather be lost than let my soul
Slip vaguely from my own control
Of my own spirit let me be
In sole though feeble mastery. — Sara Teasdale

The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens - finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. — F Scott Fitzgerald

Love, our love, had been a shooting star, burning in the darkness, unseen until it got too close, too bright and too quick to capture. It burned out, lost to the deep cold and darkness, to the brutality of space, the infinity above us and in the new emptiness inside of me. — Karina Halle

Oh, he was the sun burning bright and brittle And she was the moon shining back his light a little He was a shooting star She was softer and more slowly He could not make things possible But, she could make them holy. — Harry Chapin

When Emerson's library was burning at Concord, I went to him as he stood with the firelight on his strong, sweet face, and endeavored to express my sympathy for the loss of his most valued possessions, but he answered cheerily, 'Never mind, Louisa, see what a beautiful blaze they make! We will enjoy that now.' The lesson was one never forgotten and in the varied lessons that have come to me I have learned to look for something beautiful and bright. — Louisa May Alcott

I remember When I was a star In the night A moving, burning ember Amid the bright Clouds of star fire Going deathward To the womb. - JOHN WHITESIDE PARSONS, untitled — George Pendle

Our first duty to liberty is to keep our own. But it is also our duty - as Europeans - to keep alive in the Eastern as well as the Western half of our continent those ideas of human dignity which Europe gave to the world. Let us therefore resolve to keep the lamps of freedom burning bright so that all who look to the West from the shadows of the East need not doubt that we remain true to those human and spiritual values that lie at the heart of European civilization. — Margaret Thatcher

Somewhere, deep within me, beyond the passion, beyond the beauty of the night, that little spark of Daily magic ignited in me again, began burning in a place that had gone dark and untended, that had yearned to be bright and warm. I felt it now, something old, something new, something complete. Perhaps it had been in there in me all along, the belief that there is a plan and a purpose, that God whispers into every life, some things that are beyond the scope of the mind, and can only be felt with the heart and the spirit.
Those dreams, the dreams that are dreamed *for* us, not by us, are the truest of all. — Lisa Wingate

If there was indeed a recording of the conversation that followed, it did not exist for long. Carter would never speak of it, except to say that it was among the most difficult of his long career. The only other witness was Ed Fielding. The security man could not hear Carter's words, but he could see the terrible toll they were taking. He saw a hand gripping the telephone with such force that the knuckles were white. And he saw the eyes. The unusually bright green eyes now burning with a terrifying rage. As Fielding slipped quietly from the room, he realized he had never seen such rage before. He did not know what his friend Adrian Carter was saying to the legendary Israeli assassin. But he was certain of one thing. Blood was going to flow. And men were going to die. — Daniel Silva

Forget the buildings and the monuments. Let the softness of dark come in, all those light-years between stars and planets. Cities were the works of men but the earth before and after those cities, outside and beneath and around them, was the dream of a sleeping leviathan--it was god sleeping there and dreaming, the same god that was time and transfiguration. From whatever dreamed the dream at the source, atom or energy, flowed all the miracles of evolution--tiger, tiger burning bright, the massive whales in the deep, luminescent specters in their mystery. The pearls that were their eyes, their tongues that were wet leaves, their bodies that were the bodies of the fantastic.

Spectacular bestiaries of heaven, the limbs and tails of the gentle and the fearsome, silent or raging at will . . . they could never be known in every detail and they never should be. — Lydia Millet

Each of us is born to follow a star, be it bright and shining or dark and fated. Sometimes the path of these stars will cross, bringing love or hatred. However, if you look up at the skies on a clear night, out of all the countless lights that twinkle and shine, there will come one. That star will be seen in a blaze, burning a path of light across the roof of the earth, a great comet. — Brian Jacques

The most important vision one can be enlightened with is a glimpse of our own true, inherent divinity, an inkling of our eternal potential, our marvelous capabilities, our unbreakable strength, our enduring choice, and our infinite, divine, worth. To feel a permeating sense of the awe-inspiring inexplicable, indescribable Love and its Light burning ever bright and warm, like an eternal Ember at our deepest core, is a life-enhancing, defining and as positively, mind- altering and fulfilling of an experience as there ever was. It is nothing less than a miracle, a glorious paradigm shift...and that's just the beginning. — Connie Kerbs

Am I just prey to you?"
"Some things are worth chasing."
"Some things can't be caught."
His finger outlined my jaw as if he were putting me to memory.
"I have spent a lifetime being chased by females, and I know what it means to run. There's something different about you, Silver. You incite the hunter in me."
My saddened eyes wandered up to his, and I made a promise I didn't know if I could keep. "I'll never love again, Logan. If that's what you're asking, then I won't give it to a man that I can't trust with my life and my heart. You kill without regret, and I never know from one minute to the next what your intentions are. I don't want an indecisive man in my life any more than a controlling one."
A torch lit behind those eyes, burning bright as he leaned in and whispered softly beside my ear. "Sweet little raven, dusted in sugar - I will possess your heart. — Dannika Dark

Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the harp on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the deadwood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning? — J.R.R. Tolkien

Life wasn't like that neat classification system, Achimwene had come to realize. Life was half-completed plots abandoned, heroes dying halfway along their quests, loves requited and un-, some fading inexplicably, some burning short and bright. — Lavie Tidhar

The right to take a chance, the right to suffer. The right to be unwise, the right to die. These aims are hateful to the government, which values ever frightened mouse and falling sparrow as equal to a tiger burning bright. — Fritz Leiber

The moment he touched me, my universe constricted to the space between our lips. We were a snarl of limbs and bright-burning kisses. — Roshani Chokshi

Behind every erotic condemnation there's a burning hypocrite. — Susie Bright

The glow flares bright - bright as the billion-year-old light around us. Bright as a sun.

Almost every particle in the universe was once part of a star.

First, hydrogen condensing and collapsing, bringing radiance to the void.

Furnaces burning bright, then fading, giving all they had left back into the cosmos.

Carbon and oxygen. Iron and gold.

Vast clouds swirling with their own gravity. Coalescing and disintegrating.

Generation to generation.

The remnants of stellar alchemy, stirring into life, then consciousness.

Crawling from the oceans. Taking to the skies.

And from there, back to the stars that birthed them.

A perfect circle. — Amie Kaufman

It was what should have been a bright summer day, but the smoke
from the burning world filled the sky, through which the sun shone
murkily, a dull and lifeless orb, blood-red and ominous. — Jack London

A most burning question of time, though. It burns in every nook and cranny of the ethnological world, burning, bright, brightly, in the fullest blaze, and it burns all around, huge fire! and no one lifts a hand. — Adolf Bastian

A loner by nature and an introvert ... i am a twinkling star, burning bright amidst a cloudless night. As such, i tend to fade in and out of people's lives. This aspect of me is often misunderstood as rejection or a lack of love and caring. In reality, the only way i can survive as an introvert, is to drop from the sky, from time-to-time, recharging within the energizing landscape of my inner-universe. To love me, is to let me me have the space i need to illuminate the sky. I can't be taken hostage or held captive. Inner-light is what gives my star its twinkle. — Jaeda DeWalt

You burn bright and you burn hard, like a fire in a dumpster,
and nobody is so worried
about you burning as they are worried about the fire spreading. — Kris Kidd

May Jack-o-lanterns burning bright, Of soft and golden hue, Pierce through the future's veil and show, What fate now holds for you? — Jerry Smith

The angel tumbles down to Earth into my own personal realm of lust, hedonism and shame. With eyes the color of the ocean and her halo of fire burning as bright as the desert sun, she speaks to me. And while she is raw and sullied, tainted by this beautiful hell, her words breathe life into the darkest, loneliest parts of me. — S.L. Jennings

The only unfailing guide I've ever found through the innumerable blind alleys of my life as a writer, man, husband, father, citizen, steward, or believer, is the love burning in my heart. for me, prayer is about one thing: making contact with that love. though it burns in there like a candle flame, hot, bright, beautiful, love's flame is so fragile ... keeping one's love burning, and living in accord with that burning: this, to me, is prayer. — David James Duncan

Lords of melody and song,
Lords of roses burning bright,
Blue will right the ancient wrong,
Though the way is dark and long,
Blue will shine with loving light. — Madeleine L'Engle

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened the next tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss ... — Robert Browning

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight just a touch in the fire burning so bright no I don't wanna mess this thing up I don't wanna push too far just a shot in the dark that you just might be the one I've been waiting for my whole life but baby I'm alright with just a kiss goodnight — Lady Antebellum

She consumes me
like a bright fire
burning deep
within my ribs. — Kirk Diedrich

What better occupation, really, than to spend the evening at the fireside with a book, with the wind beating on the windows and the lamp burning bright ... Haven't you ever happened to come across in a book some vague notion that you've had, some obscure idea that returns from afar and that seems to express completely your most subtle feelings? — Gustave Flaubert

We're weird roman candles burning bright at both ends. At the end of the road's where this story begins. Where the green of the gulf meets the blue of the sea. What makes it all happen is still a mystery to me. But those crazy days and those crazy ways, we never want to undo. We'll be together, now and forever. — Jimmy Buffett

I'm chasing a decade old ghost. Searching beneath the rafters of a cobweb-filled haven lined with old memories which my brain cannot accept are dead. The light of nostalgia is burning bright inside my heart. Ignoring the emptiness around me, and hoping for a resurrection of love. — LeAnne Mechelle

People admire inner bonfires that burn so bright, and out of ignorance to these things, they gather around and think that the bonfire is some kind of blessing on their behalf, is some kind of untouched thing that knows only the purity of everything. It's all ignorance. The larger the bonfire, and the brighter it burns, the more evident the fact that it has consumed more wood and more air than the smaller ones. You burn because you have to burn. And you're not burning for others, you're not burning to be a blessing; you burn because you have to burn. — C. JoyBell C.

The entrance ramp had been blocked by an overturned semi. Bright-burning flares had been scattered around it like birthday candles on some idiot child's cake. — Stephen King

Celaena opened her arms wide, Goldryn burning bright in one hand. "Behold my power, Maeve. Behold what I grapple with in the deep dark, what prowls under my skin."
Celaena exhaled a breath and extinguished each and every flame in the city.
The power wasn't in might or skill. It was in the control - the power lay in controlling herself. — Sarah J. Maas

Bright-kindled from heavenly flames,
framed of Love's all-consuming fire,
Ignited of purest passion,
Burning in the Creator King's heart,
A splendor of bliss to illuminate Albion! — Stephen R. Lawhead

Cinders. Embers. Ashes. Michelle hoped that whatever strength had allowed this child to survive the fire all those years ago was a strength that still burned inside her. That it would go on burning, hotter and hotter, until she was as bright as the rising sun. She — Marissa Meyer

A custom existed among the first generations of Christians, when faith was a bright fire that warmed more than those who kept it burning. In every house then a room was kept ready for any stranger who might ask for shelter; it was even called "the stranger's room." Not because these people thought they could trace something of someone they loved in the stranger who used it, not because the man or woman to whom they gave shelter reminded them of Christ, but because - plain and simple and stupendous fact - he or she was Christ. — Dorothy Day

The Wolf trots to and fro,
The world lies deep in snow,
The raven from the birch tree flies,
But nowhere a hare, nowhere a roe,
The roe -she is so dear, so sweet -
If such a thing I might surprise
In my embrace, my teeth would meet,
What else is there beneath the skies?
The lovely creature I would so treasure,
And feast myself deep on her tender thigh,
I would drink of her red blood full measure,
Then howl till the night went by.
Even a hare I would not despise;
Sweet enough its warm flesh in the night.
Is everything to be denied
That could make life a little bright?
The hair on my brush is getting grey.
The sight is failing from my eyes.
Years ago my dear mate died.
And now I trot and dream of a roe.
I trot and dream of a hare.
I hear the wind of midnight howl.
I cool with the snow my burning jowl,
And on to the devil my wretched soul I bear. — Hermann Hesse

We defied fate, who stepped in long ago and did everything in her power to keep us apart. Like two comets headed for a collision, our trajectory could not be stopped. We kept finding a way back. Every choice, every kiss, every subtle nudge was destined for our inevitable impact. Fate thought she was pulling us apart, when all along, she was setting the path for spectacular crash. An eruption, a nova, a big bang, a constellation - That's what we are. We are the thing of beauty created from catastrophe. We are the light burning bright, forged from an impossible collection of coincidences. — Nina G. Jones

Do not fear the fire within you, burning brighter than any star it attracts only those whose flame feeds off the very air that you breathe. Let passion be the inferno that engulfs your soul. — Virginia Alison

Blake was right. They're a force of nature, like a hurricane or an earthquake.'
Rose's smile faded as she registered the intensity of Jake's stare as he watched the tiger. It was as if he was trying to take in more about the animal than normal sight could give, trying to fit the essence of the thing through senses that weren't up to the task.
'Burning bright!' Jake whispered, nodding. — K. Valisumbra

A mother's love is like a beacon, Burning bright with Faith and Prayer, And through the changing scenes of life, We can find a haven there ... — Helen Steiner Rice

Hill tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,
And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run;
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there. — John Clare

One night, a group of moths gathered on a shelf watching a burning candle. Puzzled by the nature of the light, they sent one of their members to go and check on it. The scouting moth circled the candle several times and came back with a description: The light was bright. Then a second moth went to examine it. He, too, came back with an observation: The light was hot. Finally a third moth volunteered to go. When he approached the candle he didn't stop like his friends had done, but flew straight into the flame. He was consumed there and then, and only he understood the nature of the light. — Elif Shafak

So the days slipped away, as each morning dawned bright and fair, and each evening followed cool and clear. But autumn was waning fast; slowly the golden light faded to pale silver, and the lingering leaves fell from the naked trees. A wind began to blow chill from the Misty Mountains to the east. The Hunter's Moon waxed round in the night sky, and put to flight all the lesser stars. But low in the South one star shone red. Every night, as the Moon waned again, it shone brighter and brighter. Frodo could see it from his window, deep in the heavens, burning like a watchful eye that glared above the trees on the brink of the valley. — J.R.R. Tolkien

The light that burned twice as bright burned half as long. — Cassandra Clare

One of the things that will keep The Front Page burning bright as long as newspapers are alive is the myth that newspapermen are breezy and raffish. What other play has for so long fed the self-image of journalists? — Jay Carr

I played it for my bride, and one day you will play for yours. — Cassandra Clare

Call it what you like: The Upper Sky, the Unmade, even the Empyrean. Men have given it so many names over the course of history. But those names don't really matter, in the end. It's the unchanging matter. A place without qualities. Neither hot nor cold, wet nor dry. The aether remains while all else shifts and fades ... The aether is the opposite of creation. It's always there, invisible but burning bright. It's the pale web that holds the universe together. — Adam McOmber

And so their spirits soared
as they took positions own the passageways of battle
all night long, and the watchfires blazed among them.
Hundreds strong, as stars in the night sky glittering
round the moon's brilliance blaze in all their glory
when the air falls to a sudden, windless calm ...
all the lookout peaks stand out and the jutting cliffs
and the steep ravines and down from the high heavens bursts
the boundless bright air and all the stars shine clear
and the shepherd's heart exults - so many fires burned
between the ships and the Xanthus' whirling rapids
set by the men of Troy, bright against their walls.
A thousand fires were burning there on the plain
and beside each fire sat fifty fighting men
poised in the leaping blaze, and champing oats
and glistening barley, stationed by their chariots,
stallions waited for Dawn to mount her glowing throne. — Homer

I laid a hand on his cheek; it was so bright that for a second I thought it was burning me, a pure painless fire. — Tana French

In a very real way, television is the new mythos. It defines the world, reinterprets it. The seasons do not change because Persephone goes underground. They change because new episodes air, because sweeps week demands conflagrations and ritual deaths. The television series rises slowly, arcs, descends into hiatus, and rises again with the bright, burning autumn. — Catherynne M Valente

As in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear. — Robert Southwell

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. — Glenda Millard

For that was love, wasnt it
to burn bright in someone else's eyes? — Cassandra Clare

Peter," she began. He looked up at her, and she could see the pain in his eyes. "I love you," she said freely. With Peter, she was laid bare; he extracted her from herself.
Peter didn't know what to say. HIs eyes glimmered, bright and burning. He only let her see them a moment before he turned away. He took a ragged breath.
"What were you doing with Rose anyway" she demanded, asking a lot of him.
Peter darkened again. He turned his back to her, took a step farther into the alley, and said in a dead voice, "I don't have to like her
to get what I want."
"I don't believe you," Valerie said, reaching for his face, again. Peter pulled away from her. "You're lying. — Sarah Blakley-Cartwright

Blinking, twinkling, burning bright
Are all the stars that light the night.
Dippers, Ursa's and Orion too,
But don't forget the star in you. — Paul The Astronaut

Are you kidding?" She looked at me as if I'd just dropped from the moon. Her cheeks were bright red.
"What's the problem now?" I demanded.
"Me, go with you to the...the 'Thrill Ride of Love'? How embarrassing is that? What if somebody saw me?"
"Who's going to see you?" But my face was burning now, too. Leave it to a girl to make everything complicated. "Fine," I told her. "I'll do it myself." But when I started down the side of the pool, she followed me, muttering about how boys always messed things up. — Rick Riordan

Where the bright seraphim in burning row
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow. — John Milton

The fire of independence is burning just as bright in my breast as in the most fiery breast in this country, but ways and methods differ. — Mahatma Gandhi

Anger ignites fires or do fires ignite anger? Did the dispossessed, their rage burning within them for years, finally strike a match to enlighten an oblivious region of their dissatisfaction? Or were the fires the primary cause of the dissatisfaction, inciting through its searing heat, the fury which is colouring the country a bright crimson, as its people imitating the violence of the flames spill the blood of thousands? — Jinat Rehana Begum

Gregory of Nyssa points out that Moses's vision of God began with the light, with the visible burning bush, the bush which was bright with fire and was not consumed; but afterwards, God spoke to him in a cloud. After the glory which could be seen with human eyes, he began to see the glory which is beyond and after light. The shadows are deepening all around us. — Madeleine L'Engle

Upon a darkened night the flame of love was burning in my breastAnd by a lantern bright I fled my house while all in quiet rest.Shrouded by the night and by the secret stair I quickly fled.The veil concealed my eyes while all within lay quiet as the dead — John Of The Cross

Once his hair was smooth and free of mats, Martise ran the comb through it for sheer pleasure. He had beautiful hair, straight and black and falling to his waist. It spread across a strong back and wide shoulders, dampening his shirt to a transparent thinness. She slid her hand under its weight and caressed his nape with light strokes of the comb. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head in mute invitation for her to continue. He breathed deep, relaxing under her touch. Martise was anything but relaxed. She was on fire, recalling those moments in the library when he'd given her a taste of the passion burning within him. He was her dreams manifested, a bright and volatile star in a winter sky. — Grace Draven

Love doesn't fail us, it's our expectations that fail us. Lovers sometimes forget that the gift is the call to love itself, and not the result. The quickening, the deepening, the merging, the burning bright in love's cosmic kiln. That's the great gift, no matter where it leads. — Jeff Brown

Everywhere he touches is fire. My whole body is burning up, the two of us becoming twin points of the same bright white flame. — Lauren Oliver

I will be the answer at the end of the line. I will be there for you. Why take the time? In the burning of uncertainty, I will be your solid ground. I, I will hold the balance if you can't look down. If it takes my whole life, I won't break. I won't bend. It will all be worth it, worth it in the end because I can only tell you what I know, that I need you in my life. When the stars have all gone out you'll still be burning so bright. — Sarah McLachlan

As he stumbled along a high bright object caught his eyes; he looked up. Atop a building across the street, above the heads of the people, loomed a flaming cross. At once he knew that it had something to do with him. But why should they burn a cross? As he gazed at it he remembered the sweating face of the black preacher in his cell that morning talking intensely and solemnly of Jesus, of there being a cross for him, a cross for everyone, and of how the lowly Jesus had carried the cross, paving the way, showing how to die, how to love and live eternal. But he had never seen a cross burning like that one upon the roof. Were white people wanting him to love Jesus, too? — Richard Wright

The lights of London are burning bright across my retinas like we finally got our fireworks and I'm greedily breathing in Thea's perfume as it clings to my receptors and she wraps my soul in a heart-shaped box. — Andrew James

Come boy, and pour for me a cup
Of old Falernian. Fill it up
With wine, strong, sparkling, bright, and clear;
Our host decrees no water here.
Let dullards drink the Nymph's pale brew,
The sluggish thin their blood with dew.
For such pale stuff we have no use;
For us the purple grape's rich juice.
Begone, ye chilling water sprite;
Here burning Bacchus rules tonight! — Catullus

When the fire is lighted within your soul, can't help it, but to burn. — Lailah Gifty Akita

I have been seeing dragons again.
Last night, hunched on a beaver dam,
one held a body like a badly held cocktail;
his tail, keeping the beat of a waltz,
sent a morse of ripples to my canoe.
They are not richly bright
but muted like dawns
or the vague sheen on a fly's wing.
Their old flesh drags in folds
as they drop into grey pools,
strain behind a tree.
Finally the others saw one today, trapped,
tangled in our badminton net.
The minute eyes shuddered deep in the creased face
while his throat, strangely fierce, stretched
to release an extinct burning inside:
pathetic loud whispers as four of us
and the excited spaniel surrounded him. — Michael Ondaatje

Now," she said when all was ready and lit the silver sconces on either side of the mirror. What woman would not have kindled to see what Orlando saw then burning in the snow
for all about the looking glass were snowy lawns, and she was like a fire, a burning bush, and the candle flames about her head were silver leaves; or again, the glass was green water, and she a mermaid, slung with pearls, a siren in a cave, singing so that oarsmen leant from their boats and fell down, down to embrace her; so dark, so bright, so hard, so soft, was she, so astonishingly seductive that it was a thousand pities that there was no one there to pt it in plain English, and say outright "Damn it Madam, you are loveliness incarnate," which was the truth. — Virginia Woolf

You still stand watch, O human star, burning without a flicker, perfect flame, bright and resourceful spirit. Each of your rays a great idea - O torch which passes from hand to hand, from age to age, world without end. — Karel Capek

I am burning. I have to live, I have to sing, I want to transform myself into a thousand different characters and carry their life with me onto the stage where it's so bright and so dark at the same time, just knowing there are three thousand people out there longing to be swept away by the passion that's about to flood out from scarlet curtains, to this I consecrate my body and my soul, I can give no more than all of myself, I feel my heart is a throbbing engine and my voice is the valve, like a wailing train, it has to sing or blow up, there's too much fuel, too much fire, and what am I to do with this voice if I can't let it out, it's not just singing. I am here as a speck, but I don't feel scared or about to be blown away, I feel like all New York is a warm embrace just waiting to enfold me. I am in love. But not with a person. I am passionately in love with my life. — Ann-Marie MacDonald

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? — William Blake

He liked having the boy there beside him. Like some bright flame of life still burning bright beside the spent lamp of his own spirit. — Paul Kearney

And by God, what a day! You know the kind of day that generally comes some time in March when winter suddenly seems to give up fighting. For days past we'd been having the kind of beastly weather that people call "bright" weather, when the sky's a cold hard blue and the wind scrapes you like a blunt razor-blade. Then suddenly the wind had dropped and the sun got a chance. You know the kind of day. Pale yellow sunshine, not a leaf stirring, a touch of mist in the far distances where you could see the sheep scattered over the hillsides like lumps of chalk. And down in the valleys fires were burning, and the smoke twisted slowly upwards and melted into the mist. I'd got the road to myself. It was so warm you could almost have taken your clothes off. — George Orwell

But I will never have a bride. — Cassandra Clare

Bright, dreadful flashes of lightning rent the darkness and Kali's reply was drowned by a peal of thunder which shook heaven and the wilderness. Simultaneously a whirlwind broke out, tugged the boughs of the tree swept away in the twinkling of an eye the camp-fire, seized the embers, still burning under the ashes, and carried them with sheaves of sparks into the jungle. — Henryk Sienkiewicz