“Burning is the right way to paint it. You feel yourself getting so hot, day after day. Hotter and hotter. It gets to be too much. Even for stars. At some point they fizzle out or explode. Cease to be. But if you’re looking up at the sky, you don’t see it that way. You think those stars are still there. Some aren’t. Some are already gone. Long gone. I guess, now, so am I.”
“He found a very nice hidey-hole. Mop needed his afternoon nap... but there were lots of gurgly, clanky noises. Mop said he was too hot. It wasn’t quite right.”
“My bath was too hot, I got soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear my railroad-train pajamas. I hate my railroad-train pajamas.”
“The boy felt warm and proud inside when he saw his father’s great hand take hold of the handle of the hot lid without using a pot rag the way his mother always did.”
“It was such happiness to her all the hot, long days that followed; to a girl just entering life there can be no purer, deeper feeling of pleasure than that brought by the knowledge that she is influencing for good some man or woman older than herself, more sin-worn and earth-wearied.”
″‘OW! HOWL! OW!’
It was so hot it burnt the skin off his mouth and tongue and he couldn’t spit it out, it was too sticky. In terror, the wolf ran out of the house and NEVER CAME BACK!”