Fire destroys that which feeds it.

A first-class man subsists on the matter he destroys.

I imagine that one of the first forms of behavior, like one of the first signals, may be reduced to this: “Keep me warm.”

Fire is a natural symbol of life and passion, though it is the one element in which nothing can actually live.

Is it a fact—or have I dreamed it—that, by means of electricity, the world of matter has become a great nerve, vibrating thousands of miles in a breathless point of time?

There’s plenty of fire in the coldest flint!

If I had been born a man, I would have conquered Europe. As I was born a woman, I exhausted my energy in tirades against fate and in eccentricities.

If there is a word in the dictionary under any letter from A to Z that I abominate, it is energy.

I care. I care about it all. It takes too much energy not to care.

To burn always with this hard, gemlike flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.

The transition from tenseness, self-responsibility, and worry to equanimity, receptivity, and peace is the most wonderful of all those shiftings of inner equilibrium, those changes of personal center of energy.

Where it is a duty to worship the sun, it is pretty sure to be a crime to examine the laws of heat.

The brightest light burns the quickest.