Source: Catch-22 (1961)
Context: Yossarian was cold, too, and shivering uncontrollably.... It was easy to read the message in his entrails. Man was matter, that was Snowden's secret. Drop him out a window and he'll fall. Set fire to him and he'll burn. Bury him and he'll rot, like other kinds of garbage. The spirit gone, man is garbage. That was Snowden's secret. Ripeness was all.
“There is yet spirit in him, were it well directed- but, like the Greek fire, it burns whatever approaches it.”
Source: Ivanhoe (1819), Ch. 43, Malvoisin to Mont-Fitchet
Help us to complete the source, original and additional information
Walter Scott 151
Scottish historical novelist, playwright, and poet 1771–1832Related quotes
Introduction
Leaves Of Morya's Garden (1924 - 1925), Book II : Illumination (1925)
The Nuts of Knowledge (1903)
“138. Well may hee smell fire whose gowne burnes.”
Jacula Prudentum (1651)
"The Way Things Used To Be" (song)
Gilbert O'Sullivan, "The Way Things Used To Be" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq_p37g6xRU (song on YouTube)
Song lyrics
Source: Alexander the Great, 1973, p.128
"The Desert. Sinai.", Ch. 21, p. 278
Report to Greco (1965)
Context: "Tomorrow, go forth and stand before the Lord. A great and strong wind will blow over you and rend the mountains and break in pieces the rocks, but the Lord will not be in the wind. And after the wind and earthquake, but the Lord will not be in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord will not be in the fire. And after the fire a gentle, cooling breeze. That is where the Lord will be."
This is how the spirit comes. After the gale, the earthquake, and fire: a gentle, cooling breeze. This is how it will come in our own day as well. We are passing through the period of earthquake, the fire is approaching, and eventually (when? after how many generations?) the gentle, cool breeze will blow.
Ela viu as palavras magoadas,
Que puderam tornar o fogo frio,
E dar descanso as almas condenadas.
tr. David Wevill
Lyric poetry, Não pode tirar-me as esperanças, Aquela triste e leda madrugada