A Quote by Maria Weston Chapman
Don't drag the engine, like an ignoramus, but bring wood and water and flame, like an engineer.
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What you call your personality, you know? --it's not like actual bones, or teeth, something solid. It's more like a flame. A flame can be upright, and a flame can flicker in the wind, a flame can be extinguished so there's no sign of it, like it had never been.
It really comes down to parsimony, economy of explanation. It is possible that your car engine is driven by psychokinetic energy, but if it looks like a petrol engine, smells like a petrol engine and performs exactly as well as a petrol engine, the sensible working hypothesis is that it is a petrol engine.
We think the fire eats the wood. We are wrong. The wood reaches out to the flame. The fire licks at what the wood harbors, and the wood gives itself away to that intimacy, the manner in which we and the world meet each new day.
I read like the flame reads the wood.
Wealth is an engine that can be used for power, if you are an engineer; but to be tied to the fly wheel of an engine is rather a misfortune.
Knowledge without Spirit is like finding yourself on a cold night with all the wood in the world and no flame to ignite it.
Life is the steam of the corporeal engine; the soul is the engineer who makes use of the steam-quickened engine.
Think of your body like a car: a glass of water first thing in the morning is like starting your engine.
My dad had a candy-apple red sparkle drag boat with a giant hemi engine in it that he raced professionally. The sound of that engine was the most incredible sound ever.
It was like I have always had big dreams for my drag aspirations, and I talked myself into doing 'Drag Race.' I'm like, take a chance.
Hearts are like tapers, which at beauteous eyes Kindle a flame of love that never dies; And beauty is a flame, where hearts, like moths, Offer themselves a burning sacrifice.
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 till 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.
Mystical experiences nearly always lead one to a belief that some aspect of consciousness is imperishable. In a Buddhist metaphor the consciousness of the individual is like a flame that burns through the night. It is not the same flame over time, yet neither is it another flame.
In the winter, I read next to a wood-burning stove. In the summer, we have a place up in Michigan where I like to read in a hammock. It's almost entirely hidden by cedar trees and right up by the water. You can climb in there and see nothing but water and be seen by nobody. It's perfect.
Personally, I like drag that's a little rough around the edges, drag you can run around in it, drag you can get in the Uber without worrying about!
It's weird not having companionship and not having somebody to talk to. I have two goldfish in my hotel room. They said, "If you would like companionship, we can bring you a goldfish." I was like, "Bring me a goldfish!" I have two because when I needed the water changed they brought another one. I was like, "Don't take Desmond!"
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