flame [Theme] Page 3

up and up with their silent heat.

Neither the bright flame of a fire, nor the warmth of a burning fireplace - a gentle candle can replace a living flame!

If you look at the candle flame for a long time - you can see your own soul!

Spoiled, lost - but truly loved by me.

Do you shift the arrows to others, just not to take the blame on yourself, as I do?

I sat and listened to the frost crackling ...

Step into this sphere of fire,
Become a light for me,
We will take off like two wings!
Into the fire I will follow you,
For love is in the heart,
That like his flame is light!

Listen, Toby. Assholes like Benedict will always rule the sky. Well, let! They do not have our fuse, there is no flame. Don't you think to lose it! And if you do, I will personally inject it back into you. Do you think I'm kidding? Would you like to check? I doubt.

When you want fire- it disappears, and when it is not needed, the miserable flame is ready to burn your dingy antennae.

She's like a flame. See how she dances. Do you remember the Pompeian mosaics? Women created by art are so beautiful because everything that is accidental in them is discarded! Only their beauty is depicted. Have you seen the paintings in the palace of the legendary Minos in Crete? Have you seen pictures of Egyptian women from the time of Akhenaten? Remember these vicious dancers and young queens, narrow-faced, with elongated eyes? Fire is raging in all of them. Now look at the dance floor. Look at this even artificial hellfire that we have ignited with technology, glass and electricity; it seems that women are gliding right over him. I arranged such a platform to see all this. From below they are illuminated by artificial hellfire, fire engulfs their dresses, climbing higher and higher, and the cold light of the moon and stars falls on their faces and shoulders; you can laugh at this allegory if you wish, but you can also ponder for a few minutes. How beautiful are these women who prevent us from becoming demigods, turning us into fathers of families, into respectable burghers, into breadwinners; women who trap us in their snares, promising to turn us into gods. Aren't they beautiful? Each of them contains Circe. And the funny thing is, they don't believe it.

It's like a flame. Or a dagger.

And again disappear for a couple of days, deleting all the numbers.

The flame of the torch is like the wisdom of cowards: it does not illuminate well because it trembles.

I gave her fire. The warm and close flame of the match lit up her face and my hands for a moment, and suddenly a crazy thought occurred to me that we had long belonged to each other.