Heat Quotes

I feel like the queen of the oven! I am the Queen of all oven-dry! Master of heat! You may now address me as "Your Royal Highness"!

Jack, please,” she whispered, even though she had no idea what it is she was begging for.“You want sex, I’ll give you sex.” His low, deep voice embodied control, and did the strangest things to her body. “But before I put my cock inside you, I want to touch and taste every inch of you.

Passion is the fire that can burn through fear.

In August, an inescapable blanket of heat settled over Paducah, the last gasping breath of summer roaring its weight out over the populace.

Ice is most welcome in a cold drink on a hot day.But in the heart of winter, you want a warm hot mug with your favorite soothing brew to keep the chill away.When you don’t have anything warm at hand, even a memory can be a small substitute.Remember a searing look of intimate eyes.Receive the inner fire.

His eyes darkened as they moved from her face, to her breasts, to the tingling spot between her legs.She writhed beneath him, and he fell over her. “You want this?” he asked, his voice rumbling against the shell of her ear.Her entire body throbbed. “Yes.”“You want my mouth on you?”Heat flooded her, and her dry throat made it almost impossible to answer. “I do.” Oh God, she did. She really did.“Where?”“Everywhere,” she whispered.

On Saturday afternoons I used to go for a walk with my mother. From the dusk of the hallway, we stepped at once into the brightness of the day. The passerby, bathed in melting gold, had their eyes half-closed against the glare, as if they were drenched with honey, upper lips were drawn back, exposing the teeth. Everyone in this golden day wore that grimace of heat–as if the sun had forced his worshippers to wear identical masks of gold. The old and the young, women and children, greeted each other with these masks, painted on their faces with thick gold paint; they smiled at each other's pagan faces–the barbaric smiles of Bacchus.

Son, let me tell you a little something about the environment… you can try to fix it up all you want, but it’s a waste of time. Sooner or later we’ll all be doomed… slaughtered by terrorists, baked in the heat of the sun, nuked until our shadows glow… greed is good. We don’t exist to help other people, we exist to grow the hell up, have kids, get old and die, while consuming all we can. Nothing comes after. There’s no wrath, no day of reckoning… we just go. POOF! We have no reason to aspire to change the world, son. We’ll thrive by feeding off of whatever’s available. How else do you think we ended up rich? You don’t get ahead by being nice, Thomas.

The fundamental laws of the universe which correspond to the two fundamental theorems of the mechanical theory of heat.1. The energy of the universe is constant.2. The entropy of the universe tends to a maximum.

Adrian had always found it amusing that a guy could be drilling Stacia up her ass while she considered herself to be a virgin. Her intent had been to present herself as such when she found "Mr. Right.

I tried to hold fire once...see from a distance it mesmerized me captivated me for hours at a timeThe more it danced with the wind, I felt my body sway to its rhythm I tried to hold fire onceIt's glow drew me in closerAnd although I know full well the damage that fire can do...Staring directly at it, I know it's beauty tooIt's warmth was now on my face and I couldn't imagine being in any other placeI reached out with my bare hands & it danced even moreAnd suddenly I felt it's heat deep within my coreRising like a volcano ready to eruptBut somehow balanced & purposefulI tried to hold fire once until I realized that fire held me Passionately and I was it's guiding force. If you look close enough, you'll see it dancing in my eyes, feel it in my touch, even hear it in my voice...but don't ever forget that fire consumes and cannot be contained so I must master my energetic output to control the flames.

One day we took the children to see a goldsmith refine gold after the ancient manner of the East. He was sitting beside his little charcoal fire. ("He shall sit as a refiner"; the gold- or silversmith never leaves his crucible once it is on the fire.) In the red glow lay a common curved roof tile; another tile covered it like a lid. This was the crucible. In it was the medicine made of salt, tamarind fruit and burnt brick dust, and imbedded in it was the gold. The medicine does its appointed work on the gold, "then the fire eats it," and the goldsmith lifts the gold out with a pair of tongs, lets it cool, rubs it between his fingers, and if not satisfied puts it back again in fresh medicine. This time he blows the fire hotter than it was before, and each time he puts the gold into the crucible, the heat of the fire is increased; "it could not bear it so hot at first, but it can bear it now; what would have destroyed it then helps it now." "How do you know when the gold is purified?" we asked him, and he answered, "When I can see my face in it [the liquid gold in the crucible] then it is pure.

A diamond is just a rock that refused to break under heat and pressure.

The most obnoxious thing in the world is to listen to others drone on about how much they love the heat.I leaned over to one woman at the café, who was professing how at home she was in the sweltering rot of hell, and said, “If you enjoy the heat so much, marry it, honeymoon with it, and throw it off a cliff, to spare the rest of us the agony of having to listen to the joy of your wretched matrimony.”She laughed.I was completely serious.

The sidewalks were haunted by dustghosts all night as the furnace wind summoned them up,swung them about, and gentled them down in a warm spice onthe lawns. Trees, shaken by the footsteps of late-night strol-lers, sifted avalanches of dust. From midnight on, it seemed avolcano beyond the town was showering red-hot ashes every-where, crusting slumberless night watchmen and irritabledogs. Each house was a yellow attic smoldering with spon-taneous combustion at three in the morning.Dawn, then, was a time where things changed element forelement. Air ran like hot spring waters nowhere, with nosound. The lake was a quantity of steam very still and deep over valleys of fish and sand held baking under its serenevapors. Tar was poured licorice in the streets, red bricks werebrass and gold, roof tops were paved with bronze. The high-tension wires were lightning held forever, blazing, a threatabove the unslept houses. The cicadas sang louder and yet louder. The sun did not rise, it overflowed.

On the way we talked about the road sign Bridge Ices Before Road. I always wondered, If that's a problem, why don't they just build the bridge out of the same stuff they use to build the road? Drema explained that the bridge isn't made out of different material than the road, but that the bridge ices quicker because it's alone, hanging there without the land under it to keep it warm.

It was always so hot, and everyone was so polite, and everything was all surface but underneath it was like a bomb waiting to go off. I always felt that way about the South, that beneath the smiles and southern hospitality and politeness were a lot of guns and liquor and secrets.