Quotes about lava

A collection of quotes on the topic of lava, time, timing, down.

Quotes about lava

“IF YOU ever drop your keys into a river of molten lava, let 'em go, because man, they're gone.”

Jack Handey (1949) American comedian

Deeper Thoughts : All New, All Crispy (1993), Hachette Books, ISBN 1-56282-840-1

Rick Riordan photo
Rick Riordan photo
Ann Brashares photo
Laurie Halse Anderson photo
Anaïs Nin photo
Perry Anderson photo
Charles Darwin photo
Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo

“For human tears are lava-drops,
That scorch and wither as they flow;
Then let them flow for those who live,
And not for those who sleep below.”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

The Churchyard from The London Literary Gazette (3rd January 1829)
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)

David Attenborough photo

“The large gray spiked form rising from the bottom of the picture is to me the symbol of death and ruin. And finally the black ovoid form is the symbol of fire, lava and destruction.”

William Baziotes (1912–1963) American painter

in a letter to Alfred H. Barr, Jr. 6 November, 1955; as quoted in Abstract Expressionism, Barbara Hess, Taschen, Köln, 2006, p. 34
Baziotes' quote is referring to his painting 'Pompeii', Baziotes painted in 1955
1950s

“Is that an ear trumpet in your lava-lava?”

Radio From Hell (July 12, 2007)

Stéphane Mallarmé photo
Charlotte Brontë photo

“The theatre was full — crammed to its roof: royal and noble were there; palace and hotel had emptied their inmates into those tiers so thronged and so hushed. Deeply did I feel myself privileged in having a place before that stage; I longed to see a being of whose powers I had heard reports which made me conceive peculiar anticipations. I wondered if she would justify her renown: with strange curiosity, with feelings severe and austere, yet of riveted interest, I waited. She was a study of such nature as had not encountered my eyes yet: a great and new planet she was: but in what shape? I waited her rising.She rose at nine that December night: above the horizon I saw her come. She could shine yet with pale grandeur and steady might; but that star verged already on its judgment-day. Seen near, it was a chaos — hollow, half-consumed: an orb perished or perishing — half lava, half glow.I had heard this woman termed "plain," and I expected bony harshness and grimness — something large, angular, sallow. What I saw was the shadow of a royal Vashti: a queen, fair as the day once, turned pale now like twilight, and wasted like wax in flame.For awhile — a long while — I thought it was only a woman, though an unique woman, who moved in might and grace before this multitude. By-and-by I recognized my mistake. Behold! I found upon her something neither of woman nor of man: in each of her eyes sat a devil. These evil forces bore her through the tragedy, kept up her feeble strength — for she was but a frail creature; and as the action rose and the stir deepened, how wildly they shook her with their passions of the pit! They wrote HELL on her straight, haughty brow. They tuned her voice to the note of torment. They writhed her regal face to a demoniac mask. Hate and Murder and Madness incarnate she stood.It was a marvellous sight: a mighty revelation.It was a spectacle low, horrible, immoral.Swordsmen thrust through, and dying in their blood on the arena sand; bulls goring horses disembowelled, made a meeker vision for the public — a milder condiment for a people's palate — than Vashti torn by seven devils: devils which cried sore and rent the tenement they haunted, but still refused to be exorcised.Suffering had struck that stage empress; and she stood before her audience neither yielding to, nor enduring, nor in finite measure, resenting it: she stood locked in struggle, rigid in resistance. She stood, not dressed, but draped in pale antique folds, long and regular like sculpture. A background and entourage and flooring of deepest crimson threw her out, white like alabaster — like silver: rather, be it said, like Death.”

Source: Villette (1853), Ch. XXIII: Vashi

Gavin Free photo

“Does rocks float on lava?”

Gavin Free (1988) English filmmaker

Rooster Teeth Podcast #256 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4WrYoNduq0. youtube.com. February 4, 2014. Retrieved June 10, 2014.

Rollo May photo
Antoni Tàpies photo
Pietro Metastasio photo

“The fiery lava in the hollow bosom of the earth, if it be restrained, in spite of its prison, bursts forth with greater force; then flows abroad, but, as it flows, subverts, beats down, and overthrows plains, mountains, forests, and cities.”

Del terreno nel concavo seno
Vasto incendio se bolle ristretto,
A dispetto del carcere indegno,
Con più sdegno gran strada si fa.
Fugge allora; ma, intanto che fugge,
Crolla, abbatte, sovverte, distrugge
Piani, monti, foreste e città.
Act III, scene 3.
Achille in Sciro (1736)

Roger Ebert photo

“Rollerball is an incoherent mess, a jumble of footage in search of plot, meaning, rhythm and sense. There are bright colors and quick movement on the screen, which we can watch as a visual pattern that, in entertainment value, falls somewhere between a kaleidoscope and a lava lamp.”

Roger Ebert (1942–2013) American film critic, author, journalist, and TV presenter

Review http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/rollerball-2002 of the 2002 film Rollerball (8 February 2002)
Reviews, Half-star reviews

Thomas Carlyle photo
Jeff Foxworthy photo
Vitruvius photo
Lafcadio Hearn photo
Vitruvius photo

“The stone in quarries is found to be of different and unlike qualities. In some it is soft… in others it is medium… in still others it is hard as in lava quarries. There are also numerous other kinds:”

Source: De architectura (The Ten Books On Architecture) (~ 15BC), Book II, Chapter VII, Sec. 1
Context: The stone in quarries is found to be of different and unlike qualities. In some it is soft... in others it is medium... in still others it is hard as in lava quarries. There are also numerous other kinds: for instance, in Campania, red and black tufas; in Umbria, Picenum, and Venetia, white tufa which can be cut with a toothed saw like wood.

Charles Lindbergh photo

“It carried the same name. It was similar in appearance. It also ended at a lava brink.”

Charles Lindbergh (1902–1974) American aviator, author, inventor, explorer, and social activist

Autobiography of Values (1978)
Context: I know myself as mortal, but this raises the question: "What is I?" Am I an individual, or am I an evolving life stream composed of countless selves? … As one identity, I was born in AD 1902. But as AD twentieth-century man, I am billions of years old. The life I consider as myself has existed though past eons with unbroken continuity. Individuals are custodians of the life stream — temporal manifestations of far greater being, forming from and returning to their essence like so many dreams. … I recall standing on the edge of a deep valley in the Hawaiian island of Maui, thinking that the life stream is like a mountain river — springing from hidden sources, born out of the earth, touched by stars, merging, blending, evolving in the shape momentarily seen. It is molecules probing through time, found smooth-flowing, adjusted to shaped and shaping banks, roiled by rocks and tree trunks — composed again. Now it ends, apparently, at a lava brink, a precipitous fall.
Near the fall's brink, I saw death as death cannot be seen. I stared at the very end of life, and at life that forms beyond, at the fact of immortality. Dark water bent, broke, disintegrated, transformed to apparition — a tall, stately ghost soul emerged from body, and the finite individuality of the whole becomes the infinite individuality of particles. Mist drifted, disappeared in air, a vanishing of spirit. Far below in the valley, I saw another river, reincarnated from the first, its particles reorganized to form a second body. It carried the same name. It was similar in appearance. It also ended at a lava brink. Flow followed fall, and fall followed flow as I descended the mountainside. The river was mortal and immortal as life, as becoming.

John Fante photo

“The afternoon moved like lava.”

Source: The 'Arturo Bandini' novels, The Road to Los Angeles (written 1935; published in 1985), Ch.20 - p.371