Greene wood makes a hott fire.
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
Centres, or centre-pieces of wood, are put by builders under an arch of stone while it is in the process of construction till the keystone is put in. Just such is the use Satan makes of pleasures to construct evil habits upon; the pleasure lasts till the habit is fully formed; but that done the habit may stand eternal. The pleasures are sent for firewood, and the hell begins in this life.
God's miracles are to be found in nature itself; the wind and waves, the wood that becomes a tree - all of these are explained biologically, but behind them is the hand of God.
A generation of men is like a generation of leaves; the wind scatters some leaves upon the ground, while others the burgeoning wood brings forth - and the season of spring comes on. So of men one generation springs forth and another ceases.
To retire to the monastery, or the woods, or the sea, is to escape from the sharp suggestions that spur on ambition.
Sometimes change came all at once, with a sound like a fire taking hold of dry wood and paper, with a roar that rose around you so you couldn't hear yourself think. And then, when the roar died down, even when the fires were damped, everything was different.
The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the first from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland glade and glen.
There's something about materials like copper, woods, stone, trees, shells. You walk outside and these materials are part of the world before we touched anything. There's a feeling of pleasure that many of us have in materials that have some presence before us, like clay and wood and copper.
The heavens and the earth, the woods and the wayside, teem with instruction and knowledge to the curious and thoughtful.
The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.
Midway in our life's journey, I went astray from the straight road and woke to find myself alone in a dark wood.
Journalism is an extraordinary and terrible privilege. Not by chance, if you are aware of it, does it consume you with a hundred feelings of inadequacy. Not by chance, when I find myself going through an event or an important encounter, does it seize me like anguish, a fear of not having enough eyes and enough ears and enough brains to look and listen and understand like a worm hidden in the wood of history.
In a city you thought of all life as human life. You had to live in the heart of the woods to realize that humanity was a slight ripple on the surface of a flood of life that seeped into every vacant crack, flowed into every biological vacuum the moment it occurred.
The sacred lives beyond labels and judgment, in the wood-of-no-names.
Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on.
When I finish a book, I get extremely restless; I have to aggressively find ways to occupy myself; going off into the woods alone, doing things that are physically or mentally demanding to keep myself busy until the next big idea comes.
Why is it that nobody cries out, nobody spits in their faces, nobody jumps at their throats? We doff our caps to the S.S. men returning from the little wood; if our name is called out we obediently go with them to die, and we do nothing. We starve, we are drenched by rain, we are torn from our families. What is this mystery? This strange power of one man over another? This insane passivity that cannot be overcome? Our only strength is our great number; the gas chambers cannot accommodate all of us.
I realize Tiger Woods is Tiger Woods; he's intimidating.
I enjoy almost all of the game we kill. I only like to eat game that I have cleaned. I guess duck and dressing are still one of my favorites. We prefer fat green-winged teal or wood ducks for our dressing.
When I am chopping trees out in the woods because I heat my house with wood, I feel myself right in the middle of God. Mahalia Jackson said "I have seen God. I have seen the sun rise." So, in a sense, when anyone looks in the mirror, they look at an infinitesimally small part of God.
I come to the point of using steel, and simply cannot. It's like the marriage proposal of a perfectly eligible man who just isn't loveable. It is wood I love.
Wood may remain twenty years in the water, but it is still not a fish.
Myself--a prince by fortune of my birth, Near to the king in blood, and near in love Till you did make him misinterpret me-- Have stooped my neck under your injuries And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment, Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods, From my own windows torn my household coat, Rased out my imprese, leaving me no sign, Save men's opinions and my living blood, To show the world I am a gentleman.
As polishing expresses the vein in marble, and grain in wood, so music brings out what of heroic lurks anywhere. The hero is the sole patron of music.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: