Fire Ranger Quotes

You say wicked like it's a bad thing. ~ Deborah Blake

Like wars, forest fires and bad marriages, really stupid laws are much easier to begin than they are to end. ~ Matt Taibbi

The sun stooped to the western waves, entering his bath of blood-red fire. He sank, and all the ways were darkened. ~ E.R. Eddison

Yeah, let's get John here. That way we can stall for a while longer. We can keep on doing nothing for just a little while longer."
Albert said, "Take it easy, Howard."
"Take it easy?" Howard jumped to his feet. "Yeah? Where were you last night, Albert? Huh? Because I didn't see you out there on the street listening to kids screaming, seeing kids running around hurt and scared and choking, and Edilio and Orc struggling, and Dekka hacking up her lungs and Jack crying and…
"You know who couldn't even take it?" Howard raged. "You know who couldn't even take what was happening? Orc. Orc, who's not scared of anything. Orc, who everyone thinks is some kind of monster. He couldn't take it. He couldn't…but he did. And where were you, Albert? Counting your money? How about you, Astrid? Praying to Jesus?"
Astrid's throat tightened. She couldn't breathe. For a moment panic threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to run from the room, run away and never look back.
Edilio got to his feet and put an arm around Howard. Howard allowed it, and then he did something Astrid never thought she would see. Howard buried his face in Edilio's shoulder and cried, racking sobs.
"We're falling apart," Astrid whispered for herself alone.
But there was no easy escape. Everything Howard had said was true. She could see the truth reflected in Albert's stunned expression. The two of them, the smart ones, the clever ones, the great defenders of truth and fairness and justice, ~ Michael Grant

God has made me so that when once I love I love for ever, and so I continue to pray for this girl and I love her still. When I saw how Céline loved one of the nuns, I tried to imitate her, but I didn't succeed, as I didn't know how to get into people's good graces. It was a fortunate ignorance which has saved me from much evil. I am profoundly grateful to Jesus who has never let me find anything but bitterness in earthly friendships. With a nature like mine, I should have been trapped and had my wings clipped and then how should I have "flown away and found rest"? It's impossible for one bound by human affection to have intimate union with God. I've seen so many souls, dazzled by this deluding light, fly into it and burn their wings like silly moths. Then they turn again to the true unfading light of love and, with new and more splendid wings, fly to Jesus, that divine Fire which burns yet does not destroy. I know that Jesus considered me too weak to be exposed to temptation. If I had seen this false light shining before me, I should have been wholly destroyed. I've been saved from that. I have found nothing but bitterness where stronger souls have found happiness and yet remained properly detached. So it's no merit on my part that I never became entangled by love of creatures; I was saved only by the great mercy of God. ~ John Beevers

My name is Matthew Swift. I'm a sorcerer, the only one in the city who survived Robert Bakker's purge. I was killed by my teacher's shadow and my body dissolved into telephone static and all they had left to bury was a bit of blood. Then we came back, and I am we and we are me, and we are the blue electric angels, creatures of the phones and the wires, the gods made from the surplus life you miserable excuse for mortals pour into all things electric. I am the Midnight Mayor, the protector of the city, the guardian of the night, the keeper of the gates, the watcher on the walls. We turned back the death of cities, we were there when Lady Neon died, we drove the creature called Blackout into the shadows at the end of the alleys, we are light, we are life, we are fire and, would you believe it, the word that best describes our condition right now is cranky.
Would you like to see what happens when you make us mad? ~ Kate Griffin

In those days before the Great War when the events narrated in this book took place, it had not yet become a matter of indifference whether a man lived or died. When one of the living had been extinguished another did not at once take his place in order to obliterate him: there was a gap where he had been, and both close and distant witnesses of his demise fell silent whenever they became aware of his gap. When fire had eaten away a house from the row of others in a street, the burnt-out space remained long empty. Masons worked slowly and cautiously. Close neighbors and casual passers-by alike, when they saw the empty space, remembered the aspect and walls of the vanished house. That was how things were then. Everything that grew took its time in growing and everything that was destroyed took a long time to be forgotten. And everything that had once existed left its traces so that in those days people lived on memories, just as now they live by the capacity to forget quickly and completely. ~ Joseph Roth

Annie, just once could you not give me a hard time?"
"Maybe someday, but not today."
"Annie, you're making Theo sad." Neither of them realized Livia had been paying attention to them. She peered around Theo's legs. "I think you should tell him your free secret."
"I don't!" She gave Livia a death glare. "And you'd better not, either."
Livia peered up at Theo. "Then you better tell your free secret."
He stiffened. "Annie doesn't want to hear my free secret."
"You have a free secret?" Annie asked.
"Yes, he does." Livia puffed up with four-year-old self-importance. "And I know it."
Now Theo was the one giving Livia the death glare. "Find some pinecones. A lot of them." He jabbed his hand toward the trees behind the gazebo. "Over there."
Annie could only stand so much. "Later," she said. "We need to get back to the cottage and see if mom's awake."
Livia's face turned into a thundercloud. "I don't want to go!"
"Don't give Annie a hard time," he said. "I'll finish the fairy house. You can see it later."
The fire had disrupted Livia's world. She hadn't had enough sleep, and she was as cranky as only an overstimulated four-your-old could be. "I'm not going!" she cried. "And if you don't let me stay, I'll tell your free secrets!"
Annie grabbed her arm. "You can't tell a free secret!"
"You absolutely can't!" Theo exclaimed.
"I can!" Livia retorted. "If they're both the same! ~ Susan Elizabeth Phillips

What's sacred when the Thing is all the universe?
creeps to every soul like a vampire-organ singing behind
moonlit clouds -
poor being come squat
under bearded stars in a dark field in Peru
to drop my load - I'll die in horror that I die!
Not dams or pyramids but death, and we to prepare for that
nakedness, poor bones sucked dry by His long mouth
of ants and wind, & our souls murdered to prepare
His Perfection!
The moment's come, He's made His will revealed forever
and no flight into old Being further than the stars will not
find terminal in the same dark swaying port
of unbearable music
No refuge in Myself, which is on fire
or in the World which is His also to bomb & Devour!
Recognize His might! Loose hold
of my hands - my frightened skull
- for I had chose self-love -
my eyes, my nose, my face, my cock, my soul - and now
the faceless Destroyer!
A billion doors to the same new Being!
The universe turns inside out to devour me!
and the mighty burst of music comes from out the inhuman
door - ~ Allen Ginsberg

I knew I was playing with fire. I was bound to get burned. But rebellious hearts know no consequences. ~ Charleigh Rose

Everyone has the spark of greatness; a leader's role is to pour oxygen onto it forming the fire within. ~ Orrin Woodward

Deslenguadas. Somos las del español deficiente. We are your linguistic nightmare, your linguistic aberration, your linguistic mestisaje, the subject of your burla. Because we speak with tongues of fire we are culturally crucified. Racially, culturally and linguistically somos huérfanos - we speak an orphan tongue ~ Gloria E Anzaldua

Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn? ~ W.B.Yeats

You want to ensure people can do it right 99 percent of time. When we have to fire one of our surgical trainees, it is never because they don't have the physical skills but because they don't have the moral skills - to practise and admit failure. ~ Atul Gawande

In the immediate aftermath of the great Chicago fire, a business proprietor erected a shack in front of his burned-out business. On a sign, he placed his name and the tagline that everything was gone but wife, children, and energy. ~ H.W. Brands

Love is kindled in a flame, and ardency is its life. Flame is the air which true Christian experience breathes. It feeds on fire; it can withstand anything rather than a feeble flame; but when the surrounding atmosphere is frigid or lukewarm, it dies, chilled and starved to its vitals. True prayer must be aflame. ~ Edward McKendree Bounds

Cassie?"
It's Sammy, holding on to Ben, because he's feeling the Ben thing a little more than he is the Cassie one at the moment. Who's this guy falling from the ductwork, and what's he doing with my sister?
"This must be Sammy," Evan says.
"This is Sammy," I say. "Oh! And this is - "
"Ben Parish," Ben says.
"Ben Parish?" Evan looks at me. That Ben Parish?
"Ben," I say, my face on fire. I want to laugh and crawl under the counter at the same time. "This is Evan Walker."
"Is he your boyfriend?" Sammy asks.
I don't know what to say. Ben looks totally lost, Evan completely amused, and Sammy just damned curious. It's my first truly awkward moment in the alien lair, and I'd been through my share of moments.
"He's a friend from high school," I mutter.
And Evan corrects me, since it's clear I've lost my mind. "Actually, Sam, Ben is Cassie's friend from high school."
"She's not my friend," Ben says. "I mean, I guess I kind of remember her…" Then Evan's words sink in. "How do you know who I am?"
"He doesn't!" I fairly shout.
Cassie told me about you," Evan says. I elbow him in the ribs, and he gives me a look like What?
"Maybe we can chat about how everybody knows one another later ~ Rick Yancey

That which always was, and is, and will be everliving fire, the same for all, the cosmos, made neither by god or man, replenishes in measure as it burns away. ~ Heraclitus

A Conspiracy Theory that took hold was introduced by Anthony "Tony" Summers, the respected author of The Kennedy Conspiracy, published in 1980 and again in 1998 as "Not in Your Lifetime." He believes that anti-Castro activists, funded by Mafia mobsters who had been ousted from Cuba, killed Kennedy. Summers believes that members of the CIA took part in this conspiracy and named the people he suspected. Summers also stated in an article published in the National Enquirer magazine, on October 25, 2013, that Lee Harvey Oswald didn't act alone. The National Enquirer stated that Herminio Diaz, born in Cuba in 1923, had, in 1948, shot Pipi Hernandez, who was a Dominican exile employed at the naval base at Guantanamo. This killing took place at the Cuban Consulate in Mexico. In 1957, he was involved with an assassination attempt against President José Figueres of Costa Rica, who incidentally was a trained Army Ranger and a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point.

According to JFKFacts published on May 27, 2014, General Fabián Escalante, the historian of Cuban State Security and Castro's former bodyguard, said that the assassin Herminio Diaz, along with Eladio del Valle and three American mobsters: Richard Gaines, Lenny Patrick, and Dave Yara, were the shooters at Dealey Plaza. ~ Hank Bracker

I've learned, from working with translators over the years, that the original novel is, in a way, a translation itself. It is not, of course, translated into another language but it is a translation from the images in the author's mind to that which he is able to put down on paper. Here's a secret. Many novelists, if they are pressed and if they are being honest, will admit that the finished book is a rather rough translation of the book they'd intended to write. It's one of the heartbreaks of writing fiction. You have, for months or years, been walking around with the idea of a novel in your mind, and in your mind it's transcendent, it's brilliantly comic and howlingly tragic, it contains everything you know, and everything you can imagine, about human life on the planet earth. It is vast and mysterious and awe-inspiring. It is a cathedral made of fire. But even if the book in question turns out fairly well, it's never the book that you'd hoped to write. It's smaller than the book you'd hoped to write. It is an object, a collection of sentences, and it does not remotely resemble a cathedral made of fire. It feels, in short, like a rather inept translation of a mythical great work. The translator, then, is simply moving the book another step along the translation continuum. The translator is translating a translation. ~ Michael Cunningham

The paintings on the wall were largely preoccupied with the amazing heroism of large dogs faced with imperiled children. Nor water nor fire nor earthquake could do in a child so long as a big dog was available. ~ John Steinbeck

The Final Poem

A forge burns in my heart.
I am redder than dawn,
Deeper than seaweed,
More distant than gulls,
More hollow than wells.
But I only give birth
To seeds and to shells.
My tongue becomes tangled in words:
I no longer speak white,
Nor utter black,
Nor whisper gray of a wind-worn cliff,
Barely do I glimpse a swallow,
A shadow's brief glimmer,
Or guess at an iris.
Where are the words,
The undying fire,
The final poem?
The source of life? ~ Andrée Chedid

This was the version of her Blake she'd first met. They reconnected with the fire that had drawn them together and kept them together years later. For him, she would always burn. ~ Debra Anastasia

The city lies at the galaxy's dust-stranded edge, enfolding a moon that used to be a world, or a world that used to be a moon; no one is certain anymore. In the mornings its skies are radiant with clouds like the plumage of a bird ever-rising, and in the evenings the stars scatter light across skies stitched and unstitched by the comings and goings of fire-winged starships. Its walls are made of metal the color of undyed silk, and its streets bloom with aleatory lights, small solemn symphonies, the occasional duel. ~ Yoon Ha Lee

As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts. There are seven words that will make a person love you. There are ten words that will break a strong man's will. But a word is nothing but a painting of a fire. A name is the fire itself. ~ Patrick Rothfuss

Fire will run like poetry through your blood. ~ Rachel Neumeier

I saw a picture of you and Vincent in a 1968 newspaper that said you died in a fire," I said, turning to Ambrose.
He nodded at me with a little smile, urging me on.
"So how can you be here now?"
"Well, I'm glad we're starting with the easy questions," he said, stretching his powerful arms and then leaning toward me. "The answer would be ... because we're zombies!" and he let out a horrible groan, stretching his mouth open and baring his teeth as he curled his hands into claws.
Seeing my terrified expression, Ambrose began cracking up and slapping his knee with his hand. "Just kidding," he cackled, and then, calming down, looked at me sedately. "But no, seriously. We're zombies."
"We are not zombies!" said Charlotte, her voice rising with annoyance. ~ Amy Plum

Every human is technically a meaningless sack of carbon clinging to a rock hurtling through the uncaring void around trillions of tons of nuclear fire, but that's too big for a single human to be aware of ~ Dean Burnett

[ ... ]And his head is on fire with new things[ ... ]he called himself the little blue hermit, scuttling across the sand in search of a new shell, but now he looks at the sky and knows that no shell will ever be big enough, ever. ~ Terry Pratchett

May we, as image makers, shapers of the culture, set our sights on things we value, rituals we engage in that heal and serve. May our images honor the ordinary endeavors of common people, and may they make their way to the eyes of the weary - light to the dark, fire to the chill. ~ Jan Phillips

Anger is a fire of resentment which will burn the bearer and not the receiver. ~ Debasish Mridha

A fire was licking at the fringe of one of the drapes that hung from the four posters of Mr. Rochester's bed. It cast a warm light through the gloom, illuminating his face while he slept. The glow became him; as the fire danced, its darting light softened the severe lines of his brow and lip.
"Please fall in love with me," Jane whispered. It shouldn't be totally out of the realm of possibility. After all, Mr. Darcy fell in love with the nearly destitute Elizabeth Bennet. It could be like one of those stories Charlotte and the other girls at Lowood were always telling - the ones with rich, handsome suitors, not the ones about murder.
Wait.
Murder.
The bed was still on fire. ~ Cynthia Hand

A pen on fire burns words like no other. ~ Vivian Rios

The floor is solid metal in some places and metal grating in others. Everything smells like rotting garbage and fire.
"Don't say I never took you anywhere nice," Peter says.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I say. ~ Veronica Roth

Always one of the trials of a new wound: old wounds like to rise up and start hurting again, too. ~ Kristin Cashore

I liked to pretend I was noble, to tell myself I wouldn't draw someone into the fire, but threatened with the safety of the people I loved, I wouldn't even hesitate. ~ Lindsey Fairleigh

wreckage before the sun went down. The final toll was a hundred and two. Eighty-eight of the dead were children. On the following Wednesday, while the city still lay in stunned silent contemplation of the tragedy, a woman found the head of nine-year-old Robert Dohay caught in the limbs of her back-yard apple tree. There was chocolate on the Dohay lad's teeth and blood in his hair. He was the last of the known dead. Eight children and one adult were never accounted for. It was the worst tragedy in Derry's history, even worse than the fire at the Black Spot in 1930, and it was never explained. All four of the Ironworks' boilers were shut down. Not just banked; shut down. But: ~ Stephen King

A warm, ragged breath disturbed the hairs on my forehead, and my blood began pricking as I realized where exactly I had retreated: right into Mr. Braddock, our strange connection humming through the hairsbreadth of distance between our bodies, our faces. I froze, forcing myself to stop shoving against him further. Before I understood anything, a rough, large hand brushed my chin, my face tipped upwards, and his mouth caught mine, and suddenly my entire body was on fire. Whatever odd sensation had thrummed between us before was just the stroke of a violin bow to this clash of an orchestra. I felt the world pass between our lips, tasting champagne, hunger, and something indefinably darker, while his hand ignited sparks down my cheek to the nape of my neck. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, forcing that elusive essence to run deeper than my skin, deeper than my veins, until my very bones vibrated. ~ Tarun Shanker

Heads half-glued together, Abby and Lara had engaged in rapid-fire chitchat as they all hurried across campus. ~ Madeleine Roux

What would Walt Whitman do? ~ Garth Risk Hallberg

There is in them a softer fire than the ruby, there is the brilliant purple of the amethyst, and the sea green of the emerald - all shining together in incredible union. Some by their splendor rival the colors of the painters, others the flame of burning sulphur or of fire quickened by oil. ~ Pliny The Elder