flame

«Brixie wasn__ talking to him, or listening to him. Nothing like that at all. Brixie was off in her own world, flaming away like a blowtorch. She was such an Internet fiend that she had never learned any other way to behave.»

Stay cool is the netiquette rule, if flamed. Responding is for a fool. NetworkEtiquette.net

-So you don't believe we have souls I guess?" and Legs laughed and said, "Yeah probably we do but why's that mean we're gonna last forever? Like a flame is real enough, isn't it, while it's burning?-even if there's a time it goes out?

Contemplating a flame perpetuates a primordial reverie. It separates us from the world and enlarges our world as dreamers. In itself the flame is a major presence, but being close to it makes us dream of far away, too far away. The flame is there, feeble and tiny, struggling to stay in existence, and the dreamer goes on to dream of elsewhere, losing his own being by dreaming on a grand, on a too grand scale by dreaming of the world.

With right fashion, every female would be a flame.

It's time to shop high heels if your fiance kisses you on the forehead.

Fashion doesn't make you perfect, but it makes you pretty.

Dresses won't worn out in the wardrobe, but that is not what dresses are designed for.

Dresses don't look beautiful on hangers.

The blaze from the trees spreads to tablecloths and crepe paper - a chain reaction so brilliantly spectacular and terrible, I ache to be a part of it...to devour and destroy,then relish in the plunder.I could do it.I could stand here amid the flames,let them lap at my skin,and laugh in a death-defying haze - because they belong to me. I could watch the world crumble and then dance,triumphant,in the snowfall of ash left behind.All I have to do is set the power free. Escape the chains of my humanity,let madness be my guide.

Am like a Fire Fly, Charged to Execute my Flames to Light this World up, therefore, you have to Kill me to get out my Flame.

i want to love you with simple,like a bare singular matchstick.onestroketo ignitewith no words spokenby the heated flames of the timber of crimsoned scarlet fire.as it crackleswith closeseparationentangled with the intimacy of firefly asheschoosing to enchantingly dance around in abundantjoy.hazily whistling into the glorified heavensmaking the ebony soot dissolve into the cool crisp air.yearning to be the explosion whoburnsthrough your bonesas you visualize red ecstasy of aprovoked kindle.

The thing about fires most people don__ realise is the noise. It__ deafening so even if you shout, you can__ be heard three feet away. You can never quite get used to the fury of it, it__ like a mighty roar of anger that just keeps going. I suppose flame is beautiful, the way it leaps into the air like it__ free to do what it wants. Other elements are also free and I guess the sea can be pretty awesome, wind too, and lightning, but fire has a mind and a determination. You don__ see it as a blind raging thing, which I suppose it is, but something that attacks and thinks and changes tactics. It has a malevolence that uses surprise, dirty tricks, cunning. You get to think of it as someone, not something, and it__ someone you have to beat, but right from the start you don__ like your chances because it__ so big and unpredictable and can do so much harm.

Envy the fire, for it is either going or not. Fires do not feel happy, sad, angry. They burn, or they do not burn.

everblaze: the unstoppable flame

The Moth don't care when he sees The Flame. He might get burned, but he's in the game. And once he's in, he can't go back, he'll Beat his wings 'til he burns them black... No, The Moth don't care when he sees The Flame. . .The Moth don't care if The Flame is real, 'Cause Flame and Moth got a sweetheart deal. And nothing fuels a good flirtation, Like Need and Anger and Desperation... No, The Moth don't care if The Flame is real. . .

His eyes darted over the surface of my face. Like a moth to a blaze he was hesitant, seeming to crave my warmth but not its inevitable burn. He explored me from a distance with his unspoken desire, with the fear that touching me would set him to flame. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to prove very much the opposite.

Love is like a match to a wick. It takes that right combination to strike a flame. But once the flame is there, it can either give warmth, die out or burn your world to ashes. Even kill you. It__ how you sustain the flame, feed it, and moderate the amount of energy in balance.