A Quote by Willa Cather

A burnt dog dreads the fire. — © Willa Cather
A burnt dog dreads the fire.
The burnt child dreads the fire.
A burnt child dreads the fire.
As a piece of rope, when burnt, retains its form, but cannot serve to bind, so is the ego which is burnt by the fire of supreme Knowledge.
The fly runs toward the fire or lamp, thinking that it is a flower, and gets burnt up. Even so, the passionate man runs towards a false beautiful form, thinking that he can obtain real happiness, and gets burnt up in the fire of lust.
Genuine recollections almost invariably explain oneself to oneself. Suppose, for example, that you feel an instinctive aversion to some particular kind of wine. Try as you will, you can find no reason for it. Suppose when you explore a previous incarnation, you remember you died by a poisoned administered in a wine of that kind, your aversion is explained by the proverb: 'A burnt child dreads the fire.'
The sun burnt every day. It burnt Time. The world rushed in a circle and turned on its axis and time was busy burning the years and the people anyway, without any help from him. So if he burnt things with the firemen, and the sun burnt Time, that meant everything burnt!
I've burned the trash a few times and it got away from me. I've caught the yard on fire. I've burnt up some acreage and had to call the fire department a couple of times.
Around 1988 I started to 'dread' my hair; because it's curly, it would go into dreads naturally if I stopped combing it. But the dreads went down only one side, so I had to have extensions put in.
A burnt child loves the fire.
A burnt finger remember the fire.
Burnt child fire dredth.
God is on the side of virtue; for whoever dreads punishment suffers it, and whoever deserves it, dreads it .
To many women marriage is only this. It is merely a physical change impinging on their ordinary nature, leaving their mentality untouched, their self-possession intact. They are not burnt by even the red fire of physical passion - far less by the white fire of love.
Love ... is a sacred fire that must not be burnt to idols.
I am writing with my burnt hand about the nature of fire.
Clever girl. You play with fire because you want to be burnt.
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