All right," Spook said. He reached to the ground, scooping up a pile of ash. "Let's just rub this into your clothing and on your face...." Breeze froze. "I'll meet you back ath the lair," he finally said.
The wet air was as cold as the ashes of love.
Ash sarcastically rang an invisible bell with his hand. "Ding, ding, ding. Give that boy a tropphy.
After the 9/11 apocalypse happened in New York City, people, particularly New Yorkers, who breathed in the ash, or saw the results of that, have a tendency to keep seeing echoes and having flashbacks to it.
You are the Energizer Bunny for badasses. -Ash
That’s Ash’s baby. (Kyrian) Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do. (Wulf)
I had learned one of the bitter lessons of life: never try to regain the past, the fire will have become ashes.
Nick glowered at Ash. "Are we through now, Dad? Can I go play with my friends if I promise to be a good boy? I'll even try and make it home by curfew." Ash laughed evilly. "Oh, absolutely, son. In fact, here come your new playmates now.
Simi, why did Acheron send you here? (Astrid) To protect you from Thanatos so that your sisters don’t get all freaky and destroy the world. Or something like that. I don’t know why all of you fear the end of the world. It’s not so bad, really. At least then akri’s mama be free. Then she wouldn’t be so cranky at the Simi all the time. (Simi) Ash’s mother is still alive? (Zarek) Oh, akri get mad whenever I tell that. Bad Simi. I not talk anymore. I need food. (Simi)
Because she’s Acheron companion. (Astrid) Ash has a companion? (Zarek) (The demon snorted. She stood up and whispered loudly in Astrid’s ear.) Dark-Hunters are cute, but very stupid. (Simi)
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)
A day in which I don't write leaves a taste of ashes.
Love is not vain because it is frustrated, but because it is fulfilled. The people we love turn to ashes when we posess them.
Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes.
All people seem to want to talk about is the current Ashes series, and whether England are going to reverse the trend of recent series.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the women don't get you then the whiskey must.
Every day there comes a moment when a person lays his hands in his lap and all his busyness collapses like ashes. The work accomplished is, from the soul's point of view, entirely imaginary.
If America is to be run by the people, it is the people who must think. And we do not need to put on sackcloth and ashes to think. Nor should our minds work like a sundial which records only sunshine. Our thinking must square against some lessons of history, some principles of government and morals, if we would preserve the rights and dignity of men to which this nation is dedicated.
The temple of fame stands upon the grave: the flame that burns upon its altars is kindled from the ashes of great men.
Why do you not do as I do? Letting go of your thoughts as though they were the cold ashes of a long dead fire?
Got a hundred grand in my ash tray, spend a 100 k on a bad day.
Time is passing. Yet, for the United States of America, there will be no forgetting September the 11th. We will remember every rescuer who died in honor. We will remember every family that lives in grief. We will remember the fire and ash, the last phone calls, the funerals of the children.
There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary.
The fire which seems extinguished often slumbers beneath the ashes.
For the human soul is virtually indestructible, and its ability to rise from the ashes remains as long as the body draws breath.
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