Best 157 quotes in «wolves quotes» category

Actually, coyotes are much scarier than wolves. Sneaky, sneaky little suckers. Eat you up. Lick the blood all up.

Accidenti, hai un buon odore. Cos’è, comunque? Sembra un po’ come...» Diede un’altra annusata dubbiosa. «Biscotti con gocce di cioccolato appena usciti dal forno. Ho lo stesso odore per te?» «No.» Rory scosse la testa con decisione. Casey sembrò un po’ spiazzato. «Oh. Beh, okay.» «No,» sospirò Rory, «profumi di zucchero filato.

A lamb among wolves!

A good man is a whole lot more satisfying than a thermal blanket and a vibrator." "Grams! I can't believe you just said that!" Her grandmother replied with a win. "I may be old, sweetheart, but I'm not dead yet.

And Esme remembered in a rush--the wolfsong, the haunting, lyrical spirals of it in the dawn quiet and the feeling of euphoria that had attended it. Even in recollection the howling uplifted her like the crescendo at the end of a symphony and made her heartbeat quicken.

An old man spoke to his grandson. "My child," he said. "Inside everyone there is a battle between two wolves. One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, inferiority, lies, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth." The boy thought for a moment. Then he asked, "Which wolf wins?" A moment of silence passed before the old man replied. And then he said, "The one you feed." - Native American Folk Tale

Are you naked?" he rasped out. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

A sheep in wolves clothing!

Beware of those who are always hungry, for they will feed you to the wolves just to get paid.

Dastien ran his fingertips along my jawline "Je suis desole, mon amour.

[Curtis Carley, first field coordinator for the Red Wolf Recovery Program] decided early in the project that there was only one possible way of saving red wolves from genetic swamping by coyotes. Biologists were going to have to capture every red wolf remaining in the wild for placement in a captive breeding program. In effect, preserving the red wolf's purity required first bringing about its extinction in the wild and turning its former range over to coyotes and hybrids until biologists could produce enough "pure" animals, then finding a suitable protected preserve for releasing a captive-bred population into the wild again. How difficult was that? After establishing a certified breeding program for red wolves at Point Defiance Zoo in Tacoma, Washington, in 1974 and 1975, the Red Wolf Recovery team decided to examine as breeding candidates some fifty red wolves held in almost twenty zoos across the country. Using the morphology-howl criteria they had established, out of those fifty they identified but a single red wolf, a female in the Oklahoma City Zoo. They were convinced all the rest, plus their pups, were actually either coyotes or hybrids, and in the latter case the team insisted they be destroyed. When some of the shocked zoo personnel refused such a draconian order, in the name of purity Curtis Carley carried out the death sentences himself.

Coyotes, it turns out, are also a kind of wolf. They shared a common ancestor with gray wolves down to about 3.2 million years ago, when coyote and gray wolf ancestors began to separate, first geographically, then, as distance increased, genetically.

Despite everything, every piece of Alaska sang to me. I remembered every curve in the trails, every tree in the forest. It was familiar to me, comfortable. The more I thought about leaving it, the less I liked the idea. This was my home.

Does that mean that the grass doesn't constitute a life? That the grassland isn't a life? Out here, the grass and the grassland are the life, the big life. All else is the little life that depends on the big life for survival. Even wolves and humans are little life. Creatures that eat grass are worse than creatures that eat meat. To you, the gazelle is to be pitied. So the grass isn't to be pitied, is that it? The gazelles have four fast-moving legs, and most of the time wolves spit up blood from exhaustion trying to catch them. When the gazelles are thirsty, they run to the river to drink, and when they're cold, they run to a warm spot on the mountain to soak up some sun. But the grass? Grass is the big life, yet it is most fragile, the most miserable life. Its roots are shallow, the soil is thin, and though it lives on the ground, it cannot run away. Anyone can step on it, eat it, chew it, crush it. A urinating horse can burn a large spot in it. And if the grass grows in sand or in the cracks between rocks, it is even shorter, because it cannot grow flowers, which means it cannot spread its seeds. For us Mongols, there's nothing more deserving of pity than the grass. If you want to talk about killing, the the gazelles kill more grass than any mowing machine could. When they graze the land, isn't that killing? Isn't that taking the big life of the grassland? When you kill off the big life of the grassland, all the little lives are doomed. The damage done by the gazelles far outstrips any done by the wolves. The yellow gazelles are the deadliest, for they can end the lives of the people here.

Do you have a thing against knights?” “Pretty boys who run around slaying dragons to save the fair maiden?” He let the sarcasm dangle for a moment. “Nah. I’m just not one.

Don't be afraid to live you life as a lone wolf, it is not as bad then, you will be disappointed less, your heart will be unbreakable, you will be stronger than the rest, for you know how to take pain without another, you will survive, your mental strength will be sharpened, your claws sharper, and your resistance to pain stronger.

Don't knock gossip." I pinched his hand. "It makes the world go round.

Don’t waste your life letting fear eat you up inside.

Do you know how to use a pool cue?" Paul asked her. "To play pool or to fight?" she asked as Paul pulled the door open and Allan went in first. "Balls are my specialty.

Dragon females were the deadliest warriors, after all.

Do you realize that you gave me the best orgasm of my life and we haven't even kissed?

Dreams are like the old stories where wolves are seekers always running, and women carry fire in their bare hands and light the dark paths before them. Old stories hold that the birds will fly all the miles of the world to tell your secrets to the rising moon, and men will walk over oceans of ice to find one truth.

Fairy tales give it to us straight. They tell us something profound and essential - that the woods are real, and dark, and full of wolves. That we will, at times, find ourselves hopelessly lost in them. But these tales also tell us that we are all that we need, that we have all we need - guts, smarts, and maybe a pocketful of breadcrumbs - to find our way home.

Even a wolf knows how to be polite when animalistic humans have no clue about politeness

Females are complicated, wonderful creatures.

Feeling your body beneath me was the closest to heaven that I shall ever come.” He spoke not in a whisper but on an intimate level, his voice rolling like the caress of dark velvet. “Your skin, your mouth, your body, your sweet, sweet moans, and your blood… I want them all. I want quite a bit more, actually. So you best prepare yourself, my lady. Since I’m already damned, I aim to have all of you. I want to see that look of ecstasy on your face over and over again when I’m buried deep inside you and you’re screaming my name.

for frail but surprisingly strong fairies who had lost their way above ground for burned mermaids and sick vampire girls for wild wolfish women with sharp teeth and leaves in their hair

Finn said art isn't about drawing or painting a perfect bowl of fruit. It's about ideas. And you, he said, have enough good ideas to last a lifetime.

For Gilead and the Calla!" he roared. "Now, gunslingers! Now, you Sisters of Oriza! Now, now! Kill them! No Quarter! Kill them all!

Gage sighed. "This team was a whole hell of a lot easier to run before any of us had ever heard about The One. You know that, right?" Maybe." Becker grinned. "But it wasn't nearly as interesting.

He brought up both hands to hold my face. "I would die for you, Isabelle." "No." I shook my head. "Live for me.

Give me one more night to taste the dark When wolves imitate a lone dog's bark Let those secrets remain unspoken Fallen angel's heart now lover's token Light grows dim burying riddle’s death Just breathe to free your one last breath

Grace stopped in the door, dimly silhouetted by the dull gray morning light, and looked back at me, at my eyes, my mouth, my hands, in a way that made something inside me knot and unknot unbearably. I didn't think I belonged here in her world, a boy stuck between two lives, dragging the dangers of the wolves with me, but when she said my name, waiting for me to follow, I knew I'd do anything to stay with her.

Grief is like an ocean. It comes in waves - some waves are bigger than others and you cannot prepare for it.

Hemlock's attentions had not only healed Aelfric's body of its wounds but also given him curious sensitivity. Aside from the voice in his mind, he felt things in the natural surroundings: the presence of beasts, the whispers of trees to the overcast skies, anger in the earth and sea. Ravens followed him around as they did wolves. And he had developed a rough ability to see in the dark.

He was going to make her his…

He rested his head on top of mine and whispered, "I'm warning you now. I'm a horrible patient." I smiled in spite of myself and pulled back. "Of course you are. That's why you're a doctor.

He set Lori on the bed. "You were the only wolf that chased my tail around, trying to grab hold. No other cub would dare.

He was a big, bad dragon shifter, a breed of male she realized took Neanderthal to a whole new level.

He turned and narrowed his eyes at her. "There is a certain sort of girl who wants the wolf to eat out of her hand. If you are such, I'll warn you, she doesn't keep her fingers long." Emily met his gaze " Some wolves can be tamed." "Then we call them lapdogs, my dear- and you'll put no leash on me.

His lazy grin incinerated the rest of my heart.

His mind drifted back to times past. He missed the companionship of his old pack. He had grown up in the pack and knew each wolf by sight and smell. They had played and hunted, bred and cared for the young, and fought and died together. His bonds to the other wolves had been very close – particularly his mate. She had been the strongest and the swiftest female. She had reared their young well and had always yelped and whined with affection after he returned from the hunt. He remembered the comfort he had felt on so many starry nights, lying beside her with his head resting upon her neck in a sign of affection. However, she was gone now, and he could not bring her back. The two-legged ones had seen to that.

I can’t go on saving the world if it means neglecting my duties as a cheerleader.

History books say that kings and dukes and generals start wars. Don't believe it. We start them, you and I. Every time we turn away, keep quiet, stay out of it, behave ourselves.

I am an equation that only she solves, These X's and Y's by other names called, My way of division is desperatley flawed, while I multiply days without her.

I could do it. I could rip your life out like a fury, like a beast. I could stand over you with my red hands and lap the heart out of your hollow chest. I'm a wolf, I'm a woman, I'm a building hurricane. I'm whole-way sharp teeth, soul-sick wet claws. I say "love me," and you say, "you're killing me." I say, "i'd die for you," and you say," You'd kill for me—that's not the same thing.

I could shoot you in the foot." "Please do. At least then I wouldn't have to endure this sock humiliation any longer.

I dated one of the guys." Surprised, Paul raised a brow... "If you had been around and wearing your wet suit, I probably wouldn't have dated him." He smiled a little at her comment. He knew for certain she wouldn't have dated the guy, wet suit or no, if Paul had been around.

A wolf's sense of hearing is remarkably acute. A wolf can detect another's howl from as far as nineteen kilometres away.

I crawled over the mountain of death, Watching the corpses roll down like the stones. Searching for the light which everyone always spoke of. I fought the wolves and also the death, and knocked the door, which already had a thousand handprints, soaked with blood. The door opened finally and I saw the light, which hit me in the heart and pushed me down the steep. I fell into the never ending pit, watching others crawl up the mountain in the search of light.