Burnt Bridges Quotes

Today, I slept in until 10, Cleaned every dish I own, Fought with the bank, Took care of paperwork. You and I might have different definitions of adulthood. I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college, But I don’t speak for others anymore, And I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for. And my mother is proud of me. I burnt down a house of depression, I painted over murals of greyscale, And it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live But today, I want to live. I didn’t salivate over sharp knives, Or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge. I just cleaned my bathroom, did the laundry, called my brother. Told him, “it was a good day.

There is no fall greater than the one from a burnt bridge.

There's no fall greater than one from a burnt bridge.

When everything is at its worst, your mind just throws it all into the wastebasket and goes to Florida for a little while. There is a sudden electric what-the-hell glow as you stand there looking back over your shoulder at the bridge you just burnt down.

Stop telling me not to burn bridges. Some bridges are meant to be burnt, some roads are never meant to be traveled again.

Once i have burnt the bridge, there is no going back. I wouldn't have let go if there was still something to hold onto, you see the thing is, very few act right but all expect you to stay. Above all, choose yourself and put yourself first always.

if I really had to deal with the predicament of whose fault my childhood was all I can say is "it took a village

Across the river he could see the burnt and crushed buildings of Fredericksburg, the debris piled along the streets, the scattered ruins of people's lives, lives that were changed forever. His men had done that. Not all of it, of course. The whole corps had seemed to go insane, had turned the town into some kind of violent party, a furious storm that blew out of control, and he could not stop it. The commanders had ordered the provost guards at the bridges to let no goods leave the town, nothing could be carried across the bridges, and so what the men could not keep, what they could not steal, they had just destroyed. And now, he thought, the people will return, trying to rescue some fragile piece of home, and they will find this...and they will learn something new about war, more than the quiet nightmare of leaving your home behind. They will learn that something happens to men, men who have felt no satisfaction, who have absorbed and digested defeat after bloody stupid defeat, men who up to now have done mostly what they were told to do. And when those men begin to understand that it is not anything in them, no great weakness or inferiority, but that it is the leaders, the generals and politicians who tell them what to do, that the fault is there, after a while they will stop listening. Then the beast, the collective anger, battered and bloodied, will strike out, will respond to the unending sights of horror, the deaths of friends and brothers, and it will not be fair or reasonable or just, since there is no intelligence in the beast. They will strike out at whatever presents itself, and here it was the harmless and innocent lives of the people of Fredericksburg.

When the card came back you couldn't have found any red on it with a microscope. The pitchman handed down a ponderous mohair Teddybear and Ballard slapped down three dimes again. When he had won two bears and a tiger and a small audience the pitchman took the rifle away from him. That's it for you, buddy, he hissed. You never said nothin about how many times you could win. Step right up, sang the barker. Who's next now. Three big grand prizes per person is the house limit. Who's our next big winner. Ballard loaded up his bears and the tiger and started off through the crowd. They lord look at what all he's won, said a woman. Ballard smiled tightly. Young girls' faces floated past, bland and smooth as cream. Some eyed his toys. The crowd was moving toward the edge of a field and assembling there, Ballard among them, a sea of country people watching into the dark for some midnight contest to begin. A light sputtered off in the field and a blue tailed rocket went skittering toward Canis Major. High above their upturned faces it burst, sprays of lit glycerine flaring across the night, trailing down the sky in loosely falling ribbons of hot spectra soon. burnt to naught. Another went up, a long whishing sound, fishtailing aloft. In the bloom of its opening you could see like its shadow the image of the rocket gone before, the puff of black smoke and ashen trails arcing out and down like a huge and dark medusa squatting in the sky. In the bloom of light too you could see two men out in the field crouched over their crate of fireworks like assassins or bridge blowers. And you could see among the faces a young girl with candy apple on her lips and her eyes wide. Her pale hair smelled of soap, woman child from beyond the years, rapt below the sulphur glow and pitch light of some medieval fun fair. A lean sky long candle skewered the black pools in her eyes. Her fingers clutched. In the flood of this breaking brimstone galaxy she saw the man with the bears watching her and she edged closer to the girl by her side and brushed her hair with two fingers quickly.

The horoscope loomed in my thoughts. Perhaps it had been right all this time. A marriage that partnered me with death. My wedding, sham though it was, would bring more than just my end. I breathed deeply and a calm spiraled through me. This was my final taste: a helix of air, smacking of burnt things and bright leaves. I pulled the vial from my bangles, fingers shaking. This was my last sight: purling fire and windows that soared out of reach. I raised the vial to my lips. My chest was tight, silk clinging damply to my back, my legs. This was my last sound: the cadence of a heart still beating. “May Gauri live a long life,” I mouthed. The poison trickled thickly from the rim and I tilted my head back, eyes on the verge of shutting-- And then: a shatter. My eyes opened to empty hands clutching nothing. Spilled poison seeped into the rug and shards of glass glinted on the floor, but all of that was obscured by the shadow of a stranger. “There’s no need for that,” said the stranger. He wiped his hands on the front of his charcoal kurta, his face partially obscured by a sable hood studded with small diamonds. All I could see was his tapered jaw, the serpentine curve of his smile and the straight bridge of his nose. Like the suitors, he wore a garland of red flowers. And yet, all of that I could have forgotten. Except his voice… It drilled through the gloaming of my thoughts, pulled at me in the same way the mysterious intruder’s voice had tugged. But where the woman’s voice brought fury, this was different. The hollow inside me shifted, humming a reply in melted song. I could have been verse made flesh or compressed moonlight. Anything other than who I was now. A second passed before I spoke. By then, the stranger’s lips had bent into a grin. “Who are you?” “One of your suitors,” he said, not missing a beat. He adjusted his garland. I backed away, body tensing. I had never seen him before. I knew that with utmost certainty. Did he mean to harm me? “That’s not an answer.” “And that wasn’t a thank you,” he said.

A bridge between two human beings always exists. It may not be visible because senses are not trained or keen to pick it up. You know what? No bridge between two individuals gets completely burnt. It keeps hanging in formlessness with the thin threads of past closeness..

Jogging in public reads as "I just want to be liked" I do work on my body to attract members of my same sex when I could just as easily pray for the courage to die alone like come the fuck on already

The most high-risk homosexual behavior I engage in is simply existing

I can reason that every person who has ever criticized literature who dared utter "the plot was paper-thin" had to look at the arc of their own lives and if they were being honest said the same thing

In my haste to run far and fast from Angus, I’d also shredded the threads that tied me and my siblings together. Little more than a trail of burnt bridges and breadcrumbs led the way to the only people I could call my own. … They were a unit, and I was the outlier.

shell tumbled overhead and Jack saw a plume of water spit up from the river, his eyes squinting as he saw something moving amongst the smoke. 'Sir.' 'What is it?' Connor asked, as he looked up from the paper. 'It's,' Jack paused, his hands rubbing his eyes as a figure took shape on the bridge. 'It's a man riding a bicycle, sir.' 'A man doing what?' Connor asked, before turning, his face flashing with surprise as he saw the figure steering around a burnt out truck, his front wheel squeaking as he pedalled towards the pillbox. Jack followed Connor as he stepped outside, the captain ducking down as a shell spat overhead, the cyclist swerving as the projectile crashed into the river, sending a jet of water spurting into the air. 'What the hell are you doing?' Connor shouted, as the man drew near, his legs back-pedalling as he came to a stop. 'Are you trying to get killed?' Connor asked, his hand seizing him by the arm and dragging him behind a concrete barrier as another shell screamed overhead. 'I am sorry,' the man said, before wiping a handkerchief over his brow. 'Where the hell have you come from?

She gave a sudden, luminous grin. 'Typical chrysalis,' she said. 'Pretty as peaches. Thick as mince.' Then she turned and made for the door, looking almost insubstantial in the shadows. Tom watched as she vanished down the steps. And looking down on to the street, he saw her hesitate, and then, finding the street deserted, spread out the skirts of the garment that he'd assumed was a long brown coat... Except that it wasn't a coat. It was wings-- wings the color of cobweb, and dappled sunlight on water, and rain... I've seen this before, said a voice in his mind. It came with a fleeting memory-- a voice in the moonlight, the touch of a hand, a scent of smoke and roses. I've seen this before, thought Tom once again, as Charissa flew into the night. His hand crept into his pocket, where something-- a dead leaf? No, a flower-- seemed to be caught in the lining. With the thought came a memory: of a moon like a Christmas bauble; a kiss as light as a moth's wing; a long-necked guitar that fell from a bridge into the moonlit water. I must have dreamed that, Tom thought, and yet it didn't feel like a dream. And it came with the sound of voices of vendors selling flowers and fruit, and the scent of marchpane and gingerbread, burnt sugar, and smoke, and spices. The Market!

The ship was charging hard northward, having cut through the choke point of Bab el Mandeb, or the Gate of Tears, that separated Yemen from the African nation of Djibouti. They were in the Red Sea, and Cabrillo had already called in enough favors with Atlas Marine Services, the Egyptian company that ran the Suez Canal, to see that his ship would be part of the next morning’s only northbound convoy. It would take eleven hours to transit the one hundred and one miles from Suez to Port Said, but once they were clear their final destination was only a day away. With the number of vessels heading into and out of the Suez Canal, the shipping lanes in the Red Sea were heavily congested. So as not to arouse undue suspicion from passing ships, Juan had posted a watch on the bridge, even though the Oregon was being piloted from the Op Center belowdecks. He was on the bridge now, overseeing preparations for taking on a canal pilot in the morning. Sandstorms raged in the western sky over Africa. The sun setting through burnt sienna clouds cast the bridge in an otherworldly glow. The temperature remained near eighty degrees, and wouldn’t get much cooler when the sun did finally settle over the horizon. “What

though your sin be great, is not God's mercy great, exceeding great? is not the satisfaction of Christ great? are the merits of Christ's blood small? Is not God, the great God of heaven and earth, able to do great things? You grant that God is almighty in providing for you; and is he not almighty also in pardoning: will ye spoil God of his almightiness in pardoning? You say your sin is great, but is it infinite; is there any more infinites than one, and that is God? Is your sin as big as God, as big as Christ; is Jesus Christ only a Mediator for small sins; will you bring down the satisfaction of Christ, and the mercy of God, to your own model? Hath not the Lord said concerning pardoning mercy, that his "thoughts are not as our thoughts, but as the heavens are greater than the earth, so are his thoughts (in this respect) beyond our thoughts." Hath not the Lord said, in Isaiah xliii, unto the people of the Jews, at verse 22, "But thou hast not called upon me, O Jacob; but thou hast been weary of me, O Israel." Verse 23, "Thou hast not brought me the small cattle of thy burnt offering, neither hast thou honoured me with thy sacrifices." Verse 24, "Thou hast bought me no sweet cane with money, neither hast thou filled me with the fat of thy sacrifice; but thou hast made me to serve with thy sins, thou hast wearied me with thy iniquity." Yet, verse 25, "I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgression for my own sake, and will not remember thy sins." Here are sins, and great sins; and if the Lord will therefore pardon sin because it is great, unto his people; then surely they have no reason to be quite discouraged in this respect.

I have loved her for eight hundred years.” Ilyan continued, his eyes digging into me in confidence and commitment, “I have loved her since the sight was first given that showed her to me, since the first time our magic bridged the gap of time and let me hold her in my arms. Her. Her laugh, her smile, her wit. I love the way her eyes sparkle when she plans a trick and the way she laughs to herself when she thinks of something funny. I love the way she sleeps curled into herself. I love her. And, because I love her, I would give her the choice.

27 Places Where You Won't Find Love 1. The spoon with which you measure salt 2. Plastic plates stacked neatly on a shelf 3. Flowers - marigolds and chrysanthemums and roses - and the shop that sells these 4. Earrings lost in the backseat of a tuktuk while looking for the Malayalam translation of "I love you" in the dark 5. Bookshelves with borrowed books, never read 6. Fifty watches, three of which were for sale 7. Coffee whose flavor was slightly off 8. A red bridge that goes by gold, which has replicas everywhere 9. The replicas themselves 10. The rearview mirror of a car 11. The burnt sienna pavement where you hurt yourself 12. A protein shake whose taste grew on you thanks to someone else. With eggs and coconut and toast 13. An island untouched by civilization 14. Another ravaged by war 15. A declined invitation to brunch 16. Dinner gone cold after a long wait, and thrown away the next day 17. An unacknowledged text message 18. Laughter ringing through a movie hall during a scene that didn't warrant it 19. Retainers stored in a box next to baby oil in the medicine cabinet 20. A gold pendant 21. A white and red cable car 22. A helmet too small for your head and another too large 23. Dreams with their own background score 24. Misplaced affection 25. A smile between strangers, with you standing on the outside looking in 26. Your bed 27. The future

A lot of buildings were burnt out, others badly racked and unsafe, some completely smashed. Off the main road it was worse; here and there houses were being demolished, blasting going on sometimes, traffic being cleared, here a bridge being propped up, there a loudspeaker van telling people where to go for money or food. All windows gone everywhere... everywhere was the smell of plaster and burning, everywhere this incredible mess, everywhere people trailing about with a mattress or a bundle or a few pots and pans.