A Quote by William Shakespeare

The glowworm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire. — © William Shakespeare
The glowworm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire.
Dumbledore was on his feet again, pale as any of the surrounding Inferi, but taller than any too, the fire dancing in his eyes; his wand was raised like a torch and from its tip emanated the flames, like a vast lasso, encircling them all with warmth.
Her eyes the glowworm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
If you are moving, even fire will not hurt you. If you are standing still near the fire, even though you are not in the fire, the heat will eventually get to you.
You know, Qhuinn's an interesting character." Saxton reached out with an elegant hand and picked up his port. "He's one of my favorite cousins, actually. His nonconformity is admirable and he's survived things that would crush a lesser male. Don't know that being in love with him would be easy, however." Blay didn't go near that one. "So do you come here often?" Saxton laughed, his pale eyes glinting, "Not for discussion, huh.
A man should live with his superiors as he does with his fire: not too near, lest he burn; nor too far off, lest he freeze.
I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried- "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!
I've always loved the poetry in 'Pale Fire.' I think it's wonderful.
I trust that some may be as near and dear to Buddha, or Christ, or Swedenborg, who are without the pale of their churches.
He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don't try to move away. Why should I anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. "I love you." That's why.
The moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun.
In the woods where snow is thick, bars of sunlight lay like pale fire.
'Pale Fire' by Vladimir Nabokov was bloody hard work but really thrilling.
For if any man who never saw fire proved by satisfactory arguments that fire burns. His hearer's mind would never be satisfied, nor would he avoid the fire until he put his hand in it that he might learn by experiment what argument taught.
When He gives, He shows you His Kindness; when He deprives, He shows you His power. And in all that, He is making Himself known to you and coming to you with His gentleness.
I like to think of fire held in a man's hand. Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. I wonder what great things have come from such hours. When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind--and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.
The whole world is strewn with snares, traps, gins and pitfalls for the capture of men by women.
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