Motions Of A Hidden Fire Quotes

Of the not very many ways known of shedding one's body, falling, falling, falling is the supreme method, but you have to select your sill or ledge very carefully so as not to hurt yourself or others. Jumping from a high bridge is not recommended even if you cannot swim, for wind and water abound in weird contingencies, and tragedy ought not to culminate in a record dive or a policeman's promotion. If you rent a cell in the luminous waffle, room 1915 or 1959, in a tall business centre hotel browing the star dust, and pull up the window, and gently - not fall, not jump - but roll out as you should for air comfort, there is always the chance of knocking clean through into your own hell a pacific noctambulator walking his dog; in this respect a back room might be safer, especially if giving on the roof of an old tenacious normal house far below where a cat may be trusted to flash out of the way. Another popular take-off is a mountaintop with a sheer drop of say 500 meters but you must find it, because you will be surprised how easy it is to miscalculate your deflection offset, and have some hidden projection, some fool of a crag, rush forth to catch you, causing you to bounce off it into the brush, thwarted, mangled and unnecessarily alive. The ideal drop is from an aircraft, your muscles relaxed, your pilot puzzled, your packed parachute shuffled off, cast off, shrugged off - farewell, shootka (little chute)! Down you go, but all the while you feel suspended and buoyed as you somersault in slow motion like a somnolent tumbler pigeon, and sprawl supine on the eiderdown of the air, or lazily turn to embrace your pillow, enjoying every last instant of soft, deep, death-padded life, with the earth's green seesaw now above, now below, and the voluptuous crucifixion, as you stretch yourself in the growing rush, in the nearing swish, and then your loved body's obliteration in the Lap of the Lord.

Lauren whirled her head around so quickly that the motion hurt her neck. Jared’s hand came up and clamped the hat more firmly over his face. He adjusted his long body to another position, contracting and relaxing muscles that Lauren didn’t know existed. But then, she had never seen a masculine physique like this before. His languid movements were repelling and thrilling at the same time. It was like watching some pagan god who was beautiful even in his decadence.

Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire, Uttered or expressed, The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast.[1]

Father Pernin explained, “Things went well enough with me during the first three or four hours of this prolonged bath, owing in part, I suppose, to my being continually in motion, either throwing water on my own head or on that of my neighbors.  It was not so, however, with some of those who were standing near me, for their teeth were chattering and their limbs convulsively trembling. Reaction was setting in and the cold penetrating through their frames. Dreading that so long a sojourn in the water might be followed by severe cramps, perhaps death, I endeavored to ascend the bank a short distance, so as to ascertain the temperature, but my shoulders were scarcely out of the river, when a voice called to me: ‘Father, beware, you are on fire!’” The few who sought the warmth of the water closer to shore, where the fire heated the shallow depths, paid a high price, for the air there was filled with hot, poisonous gases that burned their lungs and their eyes.  By 11:00 p.m., the entire village was on fire, and no one was able to make any effort to stop the conflagration. In fact, the heat was so high that the water in bottoms of deep wells boiled until they were dry, sometimes killing the people who had sought refuge in their once cool depths, while others who had hidden in root cellars and basements found themselves in red-hot ovens instead.  Bodies in such places would not be found, replaced instead by skeletal remains curled in their final throes of agony.  Some people were last seen diving into a damp, underground culver to escape the flames, but those looking for them later would find only a pile of ashes.

Simurgh We cannot see the true reflection of love without the help of light. We never know what is hidden in each heart or what is implied in the mind. When love whispers in a deep and gentle voice, "I love you. Do you feel the vibration?" "When you need me, I will always be there for you." That's how we imagine it. Like the white clouds in the sky. Like a gentle breeze in the shade of a giant tree. Or the motion of fish swimming freely in a clear river. Sometimes when love comes, we think we have it all. Will we deliberately tie ourselves down, or will we let it go? Like a line trying to form a perfectly round circle. It will return and return again to its starting point. A feeling that we will not be able to dismiss or deny its presence. It will become a part of us. Like not being able to distinguish the heat of fire from light. However, when you can no longer control it, it will overpower you. Grabbing you like a rabbit in the sharp claws of an eagle. Whenever, that feeling turns bland, wasted, until it becomes unbearable. You will be destroyed by it. In the end, the only thing we will ever have is what we let go of. There is no love without the presence of other feelings. Love is the sublimation of all that we feel. It is like poetry summarized from human sorrow and suffering. Who would deny the trembling of the heart? Is there any way to reach the Simurgh other than by sacrificing yourself? How can a person be reborn, if he has never experienced death?

Sarnia, completed after Ireland had spent a year living on Guernsey,14 is closely connected to the pagan origins of Guernsey’s store of prehistoric burial chambers and rock monuments, imagining the kind of rites and jamborees that might have occurred round the tumbled stones such as Le Trépied. The score for the first part, ‘Le Catioroc’, contains a passage from De Situ Orbis, a text by Roman writer Pomponius Mela dating from 50 BCE: ‘All day long, heavy silence broods, and a certain hidden terror lurks there. But at nightfall gleams the light of fires; the chorus of Ægipans [fauns] resounds on every side: the shrilling of flutes and the clash of cymbals re-echo the waste shores of the sea.’ That mini-narrative encapsulates the motion of many of Ireland’s pieces, as a calm surface is overrun by more mysterious elemental forces, beings or visions.

* Behind him, Lex’s pursuers held their guns sideways on and low. They kept them down by their hips, hidden in the folds of their jackets. Both of them fired, but even with their specialised training, their shots were off-target by too great a margin. One round blasted a discarded water bottle sitting on a step, the other blew up a puff of rock dust a few inches from the target’s feet. Again, the faces of bystanders started to turn in his direction. ‘He is going to kill himself,’ said the male assassin through the wireless communication node adhered to his throat. This was unexpected. ‘No,’ said the woman, her reply tickling him through his skin. ‘I don’t think so . . .’ The target’s arm came down in a sharp motion, and the object he had strapped to his back snapped open into a blossom of bright orange fabric and fine white cords. The thin material immediately caught the steady breeze and inflated into a narrow rectangle with a kite-like cross-section. ‘A parachute?’ The man disregarded protocol and launched forward, hoping to get to the target before he could step off the ledge. The compact canopy filled with wind, drawing shouts of surprise from the assembled tourists in the square, and the target pushed off the side of Mdina’s battlements and into the air. The woman grabbed her partner by the shoulder and pulled him back. ‘Wait.’ She was already putting her weapon away. He resisted, irritated at the idea of missing the kill. The chute was little better than a gimmick, a toy that would barely slow the target’s descent. If he got to the edge, if the woman covered him, he might still be able to hit the mark. It was galling to think that this civilian would escape them. ‘Both of you stand away,’ said a third voice. ‘I have this.