A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will–o'–the–wisp, dancing onward to fairylands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon which it feeds.

Your mouth is a revolver, firing bullets in the sky (Mh-mh-mh-mh)
Your love is like a soldier, loyal 'till you die (Mh-mh-mh-mh)
And I’ve been looking at the stars for a long, long time
I’ve been putting out fires all my life
Everybody wants a flame, they don’t want to get burnt
And today is our turn<p>Days like these lead to
Nights like this lead to
Love like ours
You light the spark in my bonfire heart
People like us, we don’t
Need that much, just some
One that starts, starts the spark in our bonfire hearts.

Love in your hearts as idly burns
As fire in antique Roman urns.

A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairy lands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon which it feeds.

When virtue lights in us 11 a fire of love, that love ignites another within the soul that sees its burning.

Thrice hallowed shrine
Of the heart's intercourse, our own fireside!

To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.

When one burns one's bridges, what a very nice fire it makes.

Joy is the holy fire that keeps our purpose warm and our intelligence aglow.

Affection will burn cheerily when the white flame of love is flickered out. Affection is a fire that can be fed from day to day and be piled up ever higher as the wintry years draw nigh.

Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee ... mark! ... I love thee — in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature's.

Before, beside us, and above
The firefly lights his lamp of love.

To love is to burn, to be on fire.

Love is too pure a light to burn long among the noisome gases that we breathe, but before it is choked out we may use it as a torch to ignite the cozy fire of affection.