Cold as fire, Hot as ice.

FIRE 

 It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.

There may be a great fire in our hearts, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.

Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself. 

The instruction we find in books is like fire. We fetch it from our neighbors, kindle it at home, communicate it to others, and it becomes the property of all.

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.  

 ICE

 Happiness, for you we walk on a knife edge. To the eyes you are a flickering light, to the feet, thin ice that cracks; and so may no one touch you who loves you.

 I always knew where I was going eventually, so it helped me to stay at home for three years. It helped me to develop my game. But it also helped me off the ice. Life here is way different, and I was able to get older.

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.

"Some say the world will end in fire, 

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice, 

I think I know enough of hate 

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great 

And would suffice."