We remember though all the firelit glowOf a great hearth's gleam and glare,And we looked for a space at each happy faceAnd the love that was written there.
— Caris BrookeWith callused handsi tastedthe softness of the moonin the coldest windsi discoveredmy soul's warmest fireplacein the roughnessof his stubblethe tenderest love.
— Sanober KhanOne afternoon, when I was four years old, my father came home, and he found me in the living room in front of a roaring fire, which made him very angry. Because we didn't have a fireplace.
— Victor Borge