Best 194 quotes in «werewolf quotes» category

Middling monsters died at the point of pitchforks, burned with torches, or at the butt of silver-capped canes wielded by angry, geriatric Poles. Middling people were dime-a-dozen, emptied souls, shorn sheeple, human husks. A good monster didn’t worry about what it was doing; it just did it. A true predator didn’t worry about guilt, or being popular, or anything. It just cruised along, living for the kill, surviving. A good person, well, she’d put a bullet in her head or weigh her feet down and throw herself into the Chicago River, holding her breath until she went to the sludgy, filthy bottom, and had to open wide and breathe water until she died.

My body slid from human to wolf in a crack! of black smoke. Wolf was panting and I watched frost dissipate on my hot tongue, sending tiny rivulets of steam into the air. The world was sharp and clear, and I never realized how many different colors of shadow there were. It made me savor the dark beauty of night even more.

My nerves were wrapped so tight I could explode at any second. Some jaguar reciting poetry was not helping. “Just tell me which way to go, Shakespeare.

My nerves did a jitter dance,

My nerves did a jitter dance, stuck between two wolves.

No amount of speed could break me of this darkness... The sorrow is ever clinging to me.

Nick stands behind me. He puts a hand on my waist. I yank in a breath. The world seems to swirl around me. “Are you going to faint?” he asks. I back into him and blurt, “But you’re so cute. Werewolves aren’t supposed to be cute. Vampires are, I think. They are in the movies. But the werewolves are pretty much ugly and they wear leather jackets and are all dirty with these monster sideburns.” “That’s all you have to say? That I’m cute?” He takes a stray piece of my hair and curls it around his fingers. “Most people faint or shriek or never talk to me again.

No electricity, fridge, TV or game console. I guess changing from human was enough fun and games for werewolves.

No había rastros de humanidad en su rostro, excepto en sus ojos, era una cabeza totalmente canina; y no había rastros de animalidad en su cuerpo excepto por el pelaje y la cola, era un cuerpo casi completamente humano. Como dije, una fusión perfecta y armónica entre ambas criaturas. La única forma en que hubiera podido explicarle a alguien cómo era con exactitud, y lo perfectamente construido que parecía, sólo lo hubiera logrado tomándole una foto. -- Johanna Miller

No shifting in my car Blake,I don't want slobber all over my seats." Neesa

Nevertheless, the potential and actual importance of fantastic literature lies in such psychic links: what appears to be the result of an overweening imagination, boldly and arbitrarily defying the laws of time, space and ordered causality, is closely connected with, and structured by, the categories of the subconscious, the inner impulses of man's nature. At first glance the scope of fantastic literature, free as it is from the restrictions of natural law, appears to be unlimited. A closer look, however, will show that a few dominant themes and motifs constantly recur: deals with the Devil; returns from the grave for revenge or atonement; invisible creatures; vampires; werewolves; golems; animated puppets or automatons; witchcraft and sorcery; human organs operating as separate entities, and so on. Fantastic literature is a kind of fiction that always leads us back to ourselves, however exotic the presentation; and the objects and events, however bizarre they seem, are simply externalizations of inner psychic states. This may often be mere mummery, but on occasion it seems to touch the heart in its inmost depths and become great literature.

No wonder he'd never really finished becoming one of us. We just thought it was because he was half Japanese, and lived in a huge house on the other side of town with a dad who was never home and who none of our parents had ever met. And possibly because he was an arrogant moody stuck-on-himself creepazoid And here he wasn't even a real gizmohead. He was just a grind. And a werewolf.

Oberon’s been kidnapped along with one of the werewolves, and that’s why we’re all so upset. We’ll talk more tomorrow, and I promise to answer all your questions if I survive the night,” I said. The widow’s eyebrows raised. “Ye’ve got all these nasty pooches to run around with and ye still might die?” “I’m going to go fight with a god, some demons, and a coven of witches who all want to kill me,” I said, “so it’s a distinct possibility.” “Are y’goin’ t’kill ’em back?” “I’d certainly like to.” “Attaboy,” the widow chuckled. “Off y’go, then. Kill every last one o’ the bastards and call me in the mornin’.

Nudity was an inconvenient but unavoidable part of pack life. We’d all thought nothing of it before Leah came along. Then it got awkward.

Of course not,” Colby replied. “What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is, well . . . yours.

Oh.” I touch my cheeks. “You licked me.” He laughs and leans over, giving a tiny tongue swipe to my hand. “You’re very lickable.” I try to hit him. He laughs harder and grabs my hands. “No fair! Mere mortal against werewolf,” I complain. “Fine.” He lets go, but first he kisses my fingers, each of them. I sigh happily.

Once machines performed all the servile functions formerly performed by the lower classes, the population immediately achieved equality, ending over ten thousand years of class systems.

Once I got to know you, I would come to find it was that I wouldn’t want to watch another sun rise or set without knowing you’re mine. I don’t have a lot to offer you yet, but without you, I’ll never be anything. Together, we can do anything, and I promise to keep you safe for all of eternity.

Once a month, for one evening, we are free to wear our natural skins. We are on the outside as we are internally.

Okay. We've got about twenty minutes before I get mean again.' She laughed, relieved the night was still young, 'What are you, some kind of sex-werewolf?

On days such as this, Death’s long shadow hung like a broken halo over everyone—a sign of things to come.

Our pack was given the name Ima because the man who started this pack was in love with a girl named Ima. Ima is actually a variation of the name Emma. It means universal.

One of my professors once told me that the last official act of the British monarchy was when Queen Victoria refused to sign a law that made same-sex acts illegal. It would have made me think more highly of her, except the reason she objected was because she didn’t believe women would do anything like that. Parliament rewrote the law so it was specific to men, and she signed it. A tribute to enlightenment, Queen Victoria was not. Neither, as I have observed before, are werewolf packs.

Putting on the collar is taking charge of unexpected situations. Keeping humans from taking control from me. To tell hunters that I'm not prey. Not a trophy by wearing the collar. I looked at the circlet again. Looking deeper, I see not subjugation, but a tool of power to control my fate in the world of man that symbolizes my ownership over both my nature spirit and wolf-self.

Sally's head plopped into the shallow water and rolled face up. For a while, the changing shades of pinks and oranges reflected across the surface of her dead eyes.

Sam: “I—it’s—I’m not an animal.

Reality is highly overrated.

She couldn't detach from him, couldn't catch her breath, and didn't want to. Not ever again.

She didn't pick her way over the terrain like she was afraid of slipping on the ice...She glided over it with long confident strides. Her hands were in her vest pockets. Her eyes were Susannah.

Ridiculous! I couldn’t marry, mate, or whatever it entailed with Zane. He was a werewolf. With my assorted background I was all for interracial relationships. Interspecies? — The jury was still out on that possibility.

She's a she-wolf. Her nature demands she's dominated, even if she tries to fight it. She'll listen to an amount of force – positive force, not negative force. But leave the run wide open with no boundaries and she won't listen to you at all. All she'll listen to is the call of freedom, even if it leads her straight into a trap. Stop thinking like a human. She's a wolf.

She smirked and felt the familiar pain of her fangs elongating and piercing through her gums. She inhaled the night air deeply and smiled at the intoxicating aroma. Multiple scents hit her nose at once. They were thick and rich, mixed with booze and teenage pheromones. Her leather jacket fluttered slightly as a night breeze swept under it.

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, a tiny, bloody angel in the snow, and they were going to destroy her.

Silloin susi, jonka kanssa Aalo oli juossut, yhtäkkiä muutti muotoansa. Metsän halki kulki elävä ja väkevä henkäys, niinkuin jättikeuhkot olisivat henkäisseet, ja koko korpi vavahti näkymättäin askelten astunnasta, ja suuret siivet, joitten leveyttä ei kenkään kuolevainen vielä ole mitannut, kätkivät korven salatumpaan pimentoon kuin on aarnikuusien katve. Sillä tämä susi oli Diabolus sylvarum elikkä Metsän Henki, vaikka hän nyt vasta oikian hahmonsa edestoi.

Silly cop, I don't need your help; I have a werewolf on retainer.

Silver bullets and a stake in the heart But the cross still awakens my heart I'm the freak of nature that's all Darling it's not the way that you are

So, Cormac, have you ever dealt with a PMSing werewolf?' No.' Well, it's a real bitch...

Somehow everything always came down to time, she realized with perfect lucidity. There was either too much or too little. It either passed too quickly or too slowly. It didn’t belong to anyone—it was simply a gift, bestowed by God, and yet eternally taken for granted. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing Time could be tamed—reigned in—and tethered, synchronized with human needs and wants. But that wasn’t the case, was it?

Sorry if I can't be the right monster for you Bella.

So you are vampire then, my beauty?”- Damian (Marked Book #1) page 160

So you want me to track down a supernaturally fast sniper who can disappear into thin air, retrieve your maps, and do it so nobody finds out what I'm doing or why?' 'Exactly.' I sighed. 'I'll get the paperwork.

She once told him about the mysterious trampled-down places found in fields, which the peasants superstitiously called werewolves' nests. Coming across one of these sites, she fell to her knees and buried her face in the flattened yellow grasses, hoping to inhale the odor of a werewolf, a csordásfarkas. As if his scent was a charm. She smelled nothing but hay burned by the afternoon sun.

So you believe in blood sucking fangers, but you don't believe in the existence of werewolves. What kind of narrow minded crap is that?

That was why he still hadn’t called her. He wasn’t sure what the hell he was going to say if she picked up. Evie, I’m really sorry about acting like a complete dick to you. Would you be willing to go out for lunch again? This time somewhere where my brother can’t kill anyone, and my fucked‐up father won’t take revenge for my letting it happen by trying to kill you?

The cold reality of what he is ― what I am ― sets in like cement and our former selves have been buried and smothered to death beneath the thick concrete of our separate fates.

That did explain his sucky home life growing up but didn’t excuse the way he treated others. Was there childcare for abused werewolves?

The Earl of Woolsey was indeed completely nude. He did not seem particularly perturbed by this fact, but Miss Tarabotti felt the sudden need to close her eyes tight and think about asparagus or something equally mundane.

There are a few other things. Weesee, when she used that word, Loup-garou, was right, at least in a sense. The word means werewolf.' Whitaker protested with a gasp of astonishment. 'They don't exist,' he said sharply, jolted by a memory of old movies. The doctor replied quickly: 'No, of course not. Not that way, not like some monster, a vampire or some such' 'What's the matter with him?' The doctor spoke softly, unwilling to stop until he had talked out the whole scope of the problem. 'It is a type of encephalitis. Uncommon, but there, as solidly classified in medical literature as measles. Late effects of acute infectious encephalitis, lycanthropy, to be exact. Once it was called a form of monomania. Morbus lupinus is another name.' 'You will have to hunt him down. Then he will have to be kept in a cell, for a long time, under strong drugs, probably until he dies.' De Glew touched his throat, cleared it slightly. 'The alternative is that you hunt him down and kill him. He will kill, Aaron.' 'Won't it pass?' asked Whitaker incredulously. 'I don't think so, not permanently. And pass for how long? Suppose he is only mad one day out of four.' The doctor paused. 'Or when the moon is full. Or when he sees it full in his mind's eye.

There are some things in life that we are meant to experience. Circumstances will always shift us back to certain situations until we walk through it and learn something.”- Aimee (Marked Book #1) page 79

The odor of burning sulphur shifted on the night air, acrid, a little foul. Somewhere, the Canaan dwellers had learned of a supplier of castor - an extract from the beaver's perineal glands. Little packets containing the brown-orange mass of dried animal matter arrived from Detroit at the Post Office's "general delivery." At home, by the kerosene light, the recipients unwrapped the packets. A poor relative sometimes would be given some of the fibrous gland, bitter and smelling slightly like strong human sweat, and the rest would go into a Mason jar. Each night, as prescribed by old Burrifous through his oracle, Ronnie, a litt1e would be mixed with clear spring water. And as it gave the water a creamy, rusty look, the owner would sigh with awe and fear. The creature, wolf or man, became more real through the very specific which was to vanquish him.