Heat Quotes - Page 24

• Everybody's born with some different thing at the core of their existence. And that thing, whatever it is, becomes like a heat source that runs each person from the inside. I have one too, of course. Like everybody else. But sometimes it gets out of hand. It swells or shrinks inside me, and it shakes me up. What I'd really like to do is find a way to communicate that feeling to another person.

  Haruki Murakami

  Running, Hands, Feelings

  FaceBook post by Haruki Murakami from Mar 02, 2017

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• Adam swore harshly. "New werewolves are dangerous, woman. Especially when they are cold and hungry." He looked at Mac, and his voice changed completely, the heat and anger gone, "Mercy, come here." I didn't look down to see what he'd noticed in Mac's face. I took a step, but Mac was wrapped around my left leg. I stopped before I fell. "Uhm. I'm a little stuck for the moment.

  Patricia Briggs

  Voice, Looks, Gone

  Patricia Briggs (2011). “The Mercy Thompson Collection”, p.48, Penguin

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• It wasn't a question of deceit. Just the opposite; he wanted to heat up the truth, to make it burn so hot that you would feel exactly what he felt.

  Tim O'Brien

  Lying, Opposites, Hot

  Tim O'Brien (2009). “The Things They Carried”, p.85, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• She continued weeping until the heat of her tear water, the sheer velocity of its flow, finally obscured the already vague circumstances of its origins.

  Tom Robbins

  Water, Tears, Velocity

  Tom Robbins (2003). “Jitterbug Perfume”, p.6, Bantam

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• Give me the gun." Ranger said. I extracted the gun from my pants and handed it over. Ranger held the gun in the pulm of his hand and smiled. "It's warm," he said. He put the gun in the glove compartment and plugged the key into the ignition. Am I fired?" No. Any women who can heat up a gun like that is worth keeping around.

  Janet Evanovich

  Gun, Hands, Keys

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• Physically it's kind of lassitude, the apathy and tiredness that precedes the flu or some other illness, or death. My legs ache and feel heavy, my skin has become more sensitive to cold and to heat, to the hardness or rigidity of things. Nothing interests me, I feel uncomfortable being still but would feel even more uncomfortable if I moved. I don't know whether speaking is painful or just boring. I sit here, staring straight ahead, with no desires, no needs, hollow. I'm not even sad. I feel only passivity and indifference.

  Antonio Lobo Antunes

  Desire, Skins, Apathy

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• Yet I saw crypts when I looked at him, and I heard the beat of kettledrums. I saw torchlit fields where I had never been, heard vague incantations, felt the heat of raging fires on my face. And they didn't come out of him, these visions. Rather I drew them out on my own. Yet I never had Nicolas, mortal or immortal, been so alluring. Never had Gabrielle held me so in thrall. Dear God, this is love. This is desire. And all my past amours have been but the shadow of this." — Lestat de Lioncourt

  Anne Rice

  Past, Fire, Vision

  Anne Rice (2011). “The Vampire Chronicles Collection: Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, The Queen of the Damned”, p.757, Ballantine Books

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• She'll be back," Ranger said. "But not tonight." [Stephanie] "How'd you get her to leave?" "Told her I was gonna spend the next twelve hours ruining you for all other men, and so she might as well go home." I could feel the heat rush to my face. Ranger gave me the wolf smile. "I lied about it being tonight," he said.

  Janet Evanovich

  Home, Men, Twelve

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• I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

  Martin Luther King, Jr.

  Dream, Oasis, Justice

  "Martin Luther King's 'I Have a Dream' speech is the greatest oration of all time" by Sean O'Grady, www.independent.co.uk. April 3, 2018.

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• What he loved in horses was what he loved in men, the blood and the heat of the blood that ran them. All his reverence and all his fondness and all the leanings of his life were for the ardenhearted and they would always be so and never be otherwise. (All the Pretty Horses)

  Cormac McCarthy

  Horse, Men, Blood

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• The first time I hung out with [David Blaine], he took me to this condemned building, and it had a pizza oven and he crawled into the pizza oven and turned the heat on to 400 degrees or something like that, and he stayed in it for I guess a half hour. He came out, and except for one or two second-degree burns, he was unscathed. You meet a lot of musicians and filmmakers and actors, but it's rare to meet someone who can step inside a pizza oven and take the heat. I was intrigued by that.

  Harmony Korine

  Two, Musician, Degrees

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• Olivia: What's a drunken man like, fool? Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

  William Shakespeare

  Men, Olivia, Fool

  William Shakespeare (2010). “Twelfth Night”, p.32, Palgrave Macmillan

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• The big companies are like steel and activists are like heat. Activists soften the steel, and then I can bend it into pretty grillwork and make reforms.

  Temple Grandin

  Reform, Steel, Bigs

  Temple Grandin, Catherine Johnson (2010). “Animals Make Us Human: Creating the Best Life for Animals”, p.256, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• A bruise, blue in the muscle, you impinge upon me. As bone hugs the ache home, so I'm vexed to love you, your body the shape of returns, your hair a torso of light, your heat I must have, your opening I'd eat, each moment of that soft-finned fruit, inverted fountain in which I don't see me.

  Li-Young Lee

  Love You, Home, Light

  Li-Young Lee, “The City In Which I Loved You”

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• Excuse me?" I said, palms down on the Formica tabletop. "Coffee? I thought we came here for pie." "I don't eat the kind of pie they serve here." I felt a flash of heat go through my stomach. I knew firsthand the kind of pie Ranger liked.

  Janet Evanovich

  Coffee, Pie, Kind

  Janet Evanovich (2008). “To the Nines”, p.125, Macmillan

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• I wondered why it had to be so poisonous. Oleanders could live through anything, they could stand heat, drought, neglect, and put out thousands of waxy blooms. So what did they need poison for? Couldn't they just be bitter? They weren't like rattlesnakes, they didn't even eat what they killed. The way she boiled it down, distilled it, like her hatred. Maybe it was a poison in the soil, something about L.A., the hatred, the callousness, something we didn't want to think about, that the plant concentrated in its tissues. Maybe it wasn't a source of poison, but just another victim.

  Janet Fitch

  Thinking, Hatred, Poison

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• By 1899, we had learned to tame the darkness but not the Texas heat.

  Jacqueline Kelly

  Texas, Darkness

  Jacqueline Kelly (2009). “The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate”, p.1, Macmillan

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• in stillness, I watched myselfget eaten by mosquitoes... the itch was maddening at first but eventually it just melded into a general burning feeling and i rode that heat to a mld euphoria. I allowed the pain to lose its specific associations and become pure sensation... and that eventually lifted me out of myself and into meditation.

  Elizabeth Gilbert

  Pain, Meditation, Feelings

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• We were developing a machine that used egg white, heat and sugar to synthesize methanol when a power surge caused an implosion. Owens was meringued. By the time we chipped him out the poor chap had expired.

  Jasper Fforde

  Eggs, White, Machines

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• Good Demeter mothering keeps a child in the heat and passion of life which immortalize and establish soulfulness. Mothering involves not only physical survival and achievement—Demeter's grain and fruit—it is also concerned with guiding a child to his or her unknown depths and the mystery of fate.

  Thomas Moore

  Children, Passion, Fate

  Thomas Moore (1992). “Care of the soul: a guide for cultivating depth and sacredness in everyday life”, Harpercollins

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• They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising.

  Janet Fitch

  Dream, Men, Hands

  Janet Fitch (2002). “White Oleander”, Large Print Press

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• Life would be impossible on such a planet. It wouldn't get enough heat and light, and if it rotated there would be total darkness half of every day. There wouldn't be any native inhabitants. You couldn't expect life - which is fundamentally dependent on light - to develop under such extreme conditions of light deprivation. Half of every axial rotation spent in Darkness! No, nothing could exist under conditions like that.

  Isaac Asimov

  Light, Darkness, Would Be

  "Darkness in literature: 'Nightfall' by Isaac Asimov" by Richard Lea, www.theguardian.com. December 19, 2012.

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• I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl, From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl, I’d love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl, But I’m never warm enough for my lovely summer girl, It’s summer when she smiles, I’m laughing like a child, It’s the summer of our lives; we’ll contain it for a while She holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her hand I’d be happy with this summer if it’s all we ever had.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Summer, Girl, Children

  Maggie Stiefvater (2009). “Shiver”, p.175, Scholastic Inc.

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• I'm going to enjoy every second, and I'm going to know I'm enjoying it while I'm enjoying it. Most people don't live; they just race. They are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it doesn't make any difference whether they've reached the goal or not.

  Jean Webster

  Beautiful, Country, Differences

  Jean Webster (2016). “Daddy Long-Legs and Dear Enemy: Illustrated”, p.90, Jester House Publishing

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• I wonder if I don't give too much of myself to writing: I am always half where I am; the other half is feeding the furnace, kick-starting the heat of creativity. I am making love with someone but at the same time I'm noticing how this graceful hand across my belly might just fit in with the memory of lilacs in Albuquerque in 1974.

  Natalie Goldberg

  Memories, Writing, Creativity

  Natalie Goldberg (2011). “Thunder and Lightning: Cracking Open the Writer’s Craft”, p.41, Open Road Media

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