Alex Wolfe Quotes

[T]he truth of the matter was that it was rarely a stranger who killed you; it was usually someone you held dear. As Keller knew too well, the sheep spends its life worried about the wolf, only to be eaten by the farmer.

I glanced at Alex and stifled a shriek. While I wasn't looking, he'd transformed into a large timber wolf. "Do you have to turn into animals behind my back?" I asked. Alex barred his fangs in a canine grin.

Leon, no offense, but you don't exactly look like a hockey player." "I told 'em I was a goalie. That's where they put the guy who can't skate, right? Just like in baseball when they put the worst player at catcher.

Whoever's job it was to keep the room clean was clearly not an overachiever.

What do you suppose ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ is about?” she asked. Conner contemplated a moment and slyly grinned. “Bad beans can cause more than indigestion,” he answered, laughing hysterically to himself. Alex pursed her lips to hide a smile. “What do you think the lesson of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ is?” she asked him. “Do you think she should have just mailed her grandmother the gift basket?” “Now you’re thinking!” he said. “Although, I’ve always felt sorry for Little Red Riding Hood. It’s obvious her parents didn’t like her very much.” “Why do you say that?” Alex asked, wondering how he could have possibly construed that from the story. “Who sends their young daughter into a dark and wolf-occupied forest carrying freshly baked food and wearing a bright jacket?” Conner asked. “They were practically asking for a wolf to eat her! She must have annoyed the heck out of them!” Alex held back laughter with all her might but, to Conner’s delight, she let a quiet chuckle slip. “I

Once you freeze all the way through to your soul, you will never feel warm again.

As Keller knew too well, the sheep spends its life worried about the wolf, only to be eaten by the farmer.

You really didn't appreciate how thick, how powerful water was until you had to fight it.

the sheep spends its life worried about the wolf, only to be eaten by the farmer.

But I have yet to find anybody else who submits to my predilections even half as beautifully as Alex

She remembered the jackals, spirit hounds, bound to serve the delegates of Lethe. We are the shepherds. Alex's hand lay against the floorboards. She could feel the cool, polished wood beneath her palm. Please, she begged the house silently. I am a daughter of Lethe, and the wolf is at the door.

When the time comes, don’t be afraid to open the door, just make sure you choose the right one.

Alex wondered what it took to hold value for him. Probably had to either be a business contact or a perv

What do you think the lesson of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ is?” she asked him. “Do you think she should have just mailed her grandmother the gift basket?” “Now you’re thinking!” he said. “Although, I’ve always felt sorry for Little Red Riding Hood. It’s obvious her parents didn’t like her very much.” “Why do you say that?” Alex asked, wondering how he could have possibly construed that from the story. “Who sends their young daughter into a dark and wolf-occupied forest carrying freshly baked food and wearing a bright jacket?” Conner asked. “They were practically asking for a wolf to eat her! She must have annoyed the heck out of them!” Alex held back laughter with all her might but, to Conner’s delight, she let a quiet chuckle slip. “I

No, honey, you heard me…We’re the Devils. Except me, I’m a wolf! And these kids….” She pointed at the twins… “These kids are the Cambions.” ― Maira Imran, Topaz

The strength of the pack is the wolf. The strength of the wolf is the pack.

Dude, you’re all over YouTube.” Alex did a double take at the blurry video clip of a huge gray wolf running down the middle of the street and slamming into a car. Shit. “Over ten thousand downloads in the last thirty minutes.” Cooper’s grin broadened. “First full shift, and you’re trending. It’s freaking epic!

What do you think the lesson of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ is?” she asked him. “Do you think she should have just mailed her grandmother the gift basket?” “Now you’re thinking!” he said. “Although, I’ve always felt sorry for Little Red Riding Hood. It’s obvious her parents didn’t like her very much.” “Why do you say that?” Alex asked, wondering how he could have possibly construed that from the story. “Who sends their young daughter into a dark and wolf-occupied forest carrying freshly baked food and wearing a bright jacket?” Conner asked. “They were practically asking for a wolf to eat her! She must have annoyed the heck out of them!

You should put her down before she bites you,” the wolf pup advised. “Or ask a vet to do it.” Emilia hissed. “Daddy, the mongrel’s saying I need to be put down again!” “So,” Alex cut in before the siblings could argue further. “What’ve you been up to while I was gone, Em?” “Driving my brother slowly insane.” “It’s good to have goals.

continued. “The solution to almost every problem imaginable can be found in the outcome of a fairy tale. Fairy tales are life lessons disguised with colorful characters and situations. “‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf ’ teaches us the value of a good reputation and the power of honesty. ‘Cinderella’ shows us the rewards of having a good heart. ‘The Ugly Duckling’ teaches us the meaning of inner beauty.” Alex’s eyes were wide, and she nodded in agreement. She was a pretty girl with bright blue eyes and short strawberry-blonde hair that was always kept neatly out of her face with a headband. The way the other students stared at their teacher, as if the lesson being taught were in another language, was something Mrs. Peters had never grown accustomed to. So, Mrs. Peters would often direct entire lessons to the front row, where Alex sat. Mrs. Peters was a tall, thin woman who always wore dresses that resembled old, patterned sofas. Her hair was dark and curly and sat perfectly on the top of her head like a hat (and her students often thought it was). Through a pair of thick glasses, her eyes were permanently squinted from all the judgmental looks she had given her classes over the years. “Sadly, these timeless tales are no longer relevant in our society,” Mrs. Peters said. “We have traded their brilliant teachings for small-minded entertainment like television and video games. Parents now let obnoxious cartoons and violent movies influence their children. “The only exposure to the tales some children acquire are versions bastardized by film companies. Fairy

The Boy Who Cried Wolf ’ teaches us the value of a good reputation and the power of honesty. ‘Cinderella’ shows us the rewards of having a good heart. ‘The Ugly Duckling’ teaches us the meaning of inner beauty.” Alex’s eyes were wide, and she nodded in agreement. She was a pretty girl with bright blue eyes and short strawberry-blonde hair that was always kept neatly out of her face with a headband.

I promise you and Tuffie can have lots of play dates,” Alex said as he crouched down in front of Leo and affectionately ran his hand over the dog’s head. “All you have to do is convince your mom to keep seeing me, and I’ll hook you up.” Lacey folded her arms with a laugh. “Now you’re trying to blackmail my dog into supporting your dastardly schemes?” Alex flashed her a grin. “A desperate man does what he has to…

So Penn just reads, and he just reads for a good long time. By the time he has come to the point of the French child, Adèle, and Rochester disclaiming parentage of her because, after all, she is not a werewolf, and if she were his child then she would most assuredly be wolf-born – well, he has almost forgotten that he has an audience. He remembers, though, when Hotstaat interrupts the flow of his narration, turning his head and speaking to Penn abruptly. "Annoying child, simpering miss, isn't she?" he says to Penn. "One can hardly blame Rochester for wishing to disown her. Do you remember, Penn, when we were that age? I am sure we were never half such little moaners and complainers. You might have whined a little for attention when you were in a snit: but you did not continue excessively, and when you were comforted you paid heed and quieted yourself.

It is important that we actively work, as a nation, to improve the standard of living in other countries, but not beyond the point where we stop being able to maintain our own. If we continue to do that, we will soon lose the ability to help anyone, including ourselves. However, we can improve the standard of living in those areas in many different ways. We could share knowledge, innovation, healthcare advances, and best practices. We could make targeted infusions of capital and investment to the local economies.

Alex took four small figurines from inside; a wolf, a jaguar, a rhino, and a horse. Each figure was about the same size, rendered in dark green Alaskan jade, with a rectangular base. “What are those for?” Hannah asked, her fear for her husband momentarily forgotten. Alex picked up the wolf and smiled an enigmatic smile. He rolled the map out to its full size and placed the figurine on the corner. “Weight,” he said. Hannah couldn’t help herself and snickered while Alex placed the other four figures on the other corners of the map.

The gun didn’t matter any more. Alex turned to face the man – who was now grinning at him like an old friend. Which, in a sense, he was. The two of them had actually met in the Brecon Beacons. There had been four men in the unit to which Alex had been assigned: Wolf, Eagle, Snake and Fox. None of them had been allowed to use their real names. While he was with them, Alex was Cub. And now that he thought about it, there had been one with a Liverpudlian accent. It seemed incredible that the two of them should have met up again in Bangkok, but there could be no doubt about it. Fox was standing in front of him now

There's a certain kind of boy who likes to read only about things that have really happened. Like Alex. He read about the Titanic and memorized how many people died (1,523) and the name of the boat that picked up the survivors (RMS Carpathia). He read about ghosts and werewolves, too, sometimes, but only when he was certain he was being presented with facts. (The vulnerability to silver bullets, for example, was made up by modern fiction writers—probably any bullet would do.) In one of the books Alex took out of the library, there was a story about a white flower, the scent of which turned people into wolves. He worried about the flower. It seemed to have no proper name for him to memorize.

Ree is his. Is his, is devoted to him, is aggravatingly tender and possessively passionate and wrapped up in him in a thousand ways, loves him in a way that is very useful. It seems a law of nature, at this point. Even if the events of this startling evening have served to give him pause, a little. But Ree is still his. He's fairly sure. Such complex knots can't be untied so quickly, can they? Still, it's not the only thing disturbing him, about the Dam's account of early events. She laughs when she sees his face, his sidewise look at her description, and there's definitely a mean note to it. “Oh, it was darling,” she says, and he gets the feeling of a caged animal stuck behind bars, while a cruel child pokes at it. “You were enchanted by his wolf, would follow it anywhere, welcome or not, though mostly he tolerated it. But you couldn't manage his name – and a nickname hadn't stuck at that point – so instead you imitated the sound he made. Rather insultingly, too, if not intentionally – Ruff. Or Woof, or whatever it was that you intended to say, except that it actually came out as Wuff. Or Wuffy, depending, and at varying pitches and volume as you ran after him, falling down and rolling about half the time.” Penn is transfixed. It's outrageous, it's an outrage. It can't possibly be true. It was nothing like that.

Gautier was possibly dead, probably dead. I ran as I shouted, “Take

Rape was something that happened to chicks and weaklings, and Alex was neither of those

I want you to know that I’m not doing this to keep you in line. I’m doing this to hurt you. I’m doing this because you tried to steal from me. You tried to turn Alex against me

People of the Lie. "Written by a psychiatrist, who is also a man of the cloth, the book addresses issues of parental abuse. You might think, what's that got to do with anything? Well, two things actually. One is that I find this book to give the best descriptions of human evil I ever came across.

Culture is generated, influenced, or enforced by a few people. Culture is just a process, so it can be re-engineered, analyzed, taken apart, and put back together again, or simply replaced with a newer, better one. The key to addressing cultural issues at this level is to identify the drivers of the bad culture and remove them. Just like you would do with the proverbial rotten apple.

a

You can't be the rapist and the prince both, he thinks.

He quite certainly shouldn't care: and still he feels a hot sick bubbling in his gut, as if he'd drunk turned milk, or been on a drunken spree. Or been spurned in love, since damn fools seem to take that uncommonly serious, and stick knives in their guts over it all the time, in poems and plays. Romeo and Juliet, being one example, that he's read half a dozen times but never thought to see played out on the stage. Except that Ree took it into his head not a month ago, to take him to the theatre at Stratford to see it. The play's practically seditious when you think about it: Shakespeare's tale of forbidden love between a free-born human lad, and the high-born wolf-girl from the family that had owned then freed his father. At least old Will didn't go so far as to make the boy a slave, else he'd probably have found himself clapped in irons for thanks for his labour. Though of course as a wolf himself, for all his relatively low-status till he won fame from his quill, he'd less to fear than a human would have had. And even a wolf audience can sigh and dab their eyes over a tragic romance, between the two classes of men. As long as the powerless class gets no ideas of acting on that offensive gush of sentimentality.

He's still a man, a grown man too, and he thinks better of himself than to seek a coddling sympathy from the one who's hurt him. You can't be the rapist and the prince both, he thinks meanly, and pretty damn unfairly: since Ree has not in fact laid violent or forcing hand upon him.

It isn't fair, you know that, but then the world isn't fair. Life isn't fair. You know that, too. Fair doesn't come into it. Does the wolf slaying the lamb worry about fairness? About wounded innocence? No, it cares only about it's hunger. There is no fair or unfair for the wolf. The wolf takes what it needs, and it's need is the only justification necessary. Right, wrong; fair, unfair; they play no part in its world. And they play no part in yours either. There is only strong or weak, winner or loser, the cry of its not fair is just a tool the weak use to constrain the strong.

I do sometimes wonder which side the Foreign Office is on.

No, no… not my job, Summers, I’m more of a – how can I put it? – more of a writing papers type of chap. Probably papers no one will read, but there we are.

Sorry about that,” I tell Mika. “Shade’s wolf has worse manners than a soup-bound hen.” I say this part loudly enough to reach into the corridor, and I grin at the echoing growl.

Give it some time, trust the process and let it unravel, because have you ever been in a room with a thousand people whispering? It’s extremely loud.

She got the feeling that as long as she was with Alex, she was going to have to get used to orgasming a lot more often than she had in the past. It was something she thought she could handle.

She looked around to see that all the dogs – including Scooby Doo – were still looking adoringly at Alex. She turned back to him. “I’ve never seen an entire kennel behave like this around anyone. Does this happen to you often?

My good heart and empathetic personality were assumed by many as a weakness. I was unwarily and widely opening doors to my sponge-like heart for people with a strict intent to take advantage of me. I was considered naive and gullible. My charitable practices caused me more pains and heartaches than a long expected feeling of joy, fulfillment, and satisfaction. Dealing with constant depreciation, disrespect, and in few cases even abused, I was being left feeling wronged and victimized. Such treatment sent me into a low-vibration state of mind and ever since I have been attracting and letting all the wrong and toxic people in to my life. In the effect, inadvertently and totally unconsciously, I neglected and deprived myself from having what I deserved best: - true and unconditional love, respect and gratitude. By constantly placing me at "second place”, I depleted myself from positive energy, neglected my own life; its desires, needs, and ended up running on empty. I started losing touch with my own creative inspiration, and my artistic originality suffered a great deal. I started noticing that I was left with no fuel to properly nourish my own body, soul and mind. It is time for me to take charge of my life, place myself first before anyone else, let go of all the “wolfs in sheep’s garment”, and rebuild my dwindling self-esteem. It is time for me to heal and rebuild my essence, give myself proper love, balanced nutrition and attention, and feel again that strong desire to live my life to the fullest. It is time for me to reconstitute, refocus and re-center in order to achieve a blissful feeling of inner peace. I understand that this new development may disappoint some of my "friends" and associates who are used to my giving nature. They will have to accept my transformation given that I cannot go on with my life running on empty, especially since most of my actions remain usually non-reciprocated. It is time for Alex to finally be able to distinguish between those that are really in need and those that are just pure pococurante parasites or scavengers, always expecting of me to cater to their every single need. It is time for me to say "no" to those who under false pretenses entered my sensitive and charitable heart only to take advantage of it and who are always taking but never giving.

NEW-AGENT TRAINING at the FBI Academy in Quantico, sometimes called “Club Fed,” was turning out to be a challenging, arduous, and tense program. For the most part, I liked it, and I was making an effort to keep any skepticism down. But I had entered the Bureau with a reputation for catching pattern killers, and I

Love when you can, and fight when you must, but stand together and never give up, not to the enemy, and not on each other.

Everything changes, and there’s no denying that. But change isn’t always bad, as long as you hold onto who you truly are, and hold onto each other.

Gage didn’t reply. A cardinal rule of combat was never to be the first man to gloat, especially when you were the man who’d tried to end Gage Wolfe’s woman’s life. There wasn’t ever a bigger mistake made anywhere in the universe.

It’s not that. I could manage over a hundred worlds like Verdia if so needed. No, the problem is that I have yet to discover why. Do you ever wonder about why, Alex?” “All the time, Omni,” Alex replied, drifting off to sleep in his leather chair. The significance of a computer asking humanity’s greatest question escaped him, “all the time.”           Chapter

Mahoney tooted the horn again.

Friends, like enemies, can rarely be trusted, and plotting against the couple helps Alex and I stay ahead of them. Everyone needs a rival, after all. Rivalry keeps us sharp, prevents tedium.

Because that's what she's suggesting. That I'm some sort of enchanted psychopath and Alex is my Prince Charming. We are not a fairy tale. We're a horror story.

Loneliness is a disease that will wither your body and mind far more ruthlessly than any physical illness. Alex was alone. That was the truth of his incurable malady.

Loneliness is disease that will wither your body and mind far more ruthlessly than any physical illness. Alex was alone. That was truth of his incurable malady.

And fiends like Alex and I are in fact detached from the larger world. We had to create an existence of our own, governed by our own logic and rules, an existence we share only with one another.

We accept the choices that wove our fate together. Alex chose to love his monster. And I chose to stay in my Wonderland with my dark prince.

I’ll write to his partner,” Edil said. “Thank you for offering, Edil,” I said. “But writing to the next of kin is the responsibility of the most senior officer in the Group. It communicates maximum respect. That’s the etiquette. We established it after Alex Remy died. Plus, you have lost a dear friend. Everyone can see how upset you are. It wouldn’t be right to burden you.” I had to protect Wolfe’s family from this woman.

Nobody else would ever be able to make Alex do this kind of shit. But he didn’t want anybody else. He only wanted Tracht.

Please what? Please don’t punish you?” “Please don’t leave me alone again,” Alex said.

And then you ended up in Chechnya, I understand" Sergei continued. "And what, exactly, did you do there?" Jack inquired. "Exactly? We would surround the villages, call out the village elders and give them our ultimatum: if you don't give up your arms, we'll raze your village to the ground. At night, all men, including boys, would go away in to the mountains on the request of the village elders. By the time we rolled in, there were no more weapons or rebels. Only the elderly, women and children. And nobody could leave." "Why not?" "Because we blocked off the main road, that's why," Fedor said as if he was losing patience with Jack. "On approaching any house, I'd fire inside. If anyone jumped out, woman or child, I mowed them down. The guys behind me would torch the bodies with the flamethrowers to get rid of the evidence. We moved through the village, house by house, firing, throwing grenades into the basements, burning. At one train station we hung ten high school kids, and then six more students that were hiding inside a school. On the outskirts we found about a hundred and thirty people, women, children, old men, anyone who didn't run away. We locked them in a grain elevator, chained the door and then torched it. What we left behind were not ruins, just flat ground." "Are you saying that the Russian soldiers killed everyone in some village and nobody has heard of it?" Jack asked him incredulously. It was inconceivable that such a barbaric event could take place in today's world without CNN and BBC dissecting it under a microscope. "Not everyone was killed. Some of the villagers, the ones who survived, were transported to a filtration camp." "What's a filtration camp?" "You really don't' know anything, do you? Or are you pretending?" "Try me," Jack said. "There is this filtration camp in Osinovka. Each room houses twenty to twenty five prisoners, who sleep on the concrete floor. The guards line them up against the wall and practice karate kicks in the head or in the groin. One of our guys liked to put electricity to the bodies, to see them fry. It takes a long time to get used to that smell. If a prisoner tried to untie their hands, the sergeant would cut them off at the wrists. If a prisoner tried to take off the black blindfold, the sergeant would put out his eyes with his thumbs. He was a piece of work from Archangelsk, our sergeant. During one helicopter ride, he dropped three prisoners because he was bored." "But how is it possible that the world news did not report any of this?" Jack persisted in knowing. Fedor raised his eyebrows in a manner that made Jack feel foolish for asking such a question. "Simple. For the next forty-eight hours we didn't allow anyone to enter Samashki, not even the Red Cross. That gave us plenty of time. Our armored vehicles flattened their bones so that the relatives could not identify them later. Exactly what news are you talking about? Are you from this world or not?" Fedor's wolf-like stare made Jack very nervous.

No, honey, you heard me…We’re the Devils. Except me, I’m a wolf! And these kids….” She pointed at the twins… “These kids are the Cambions.

He’d dated Charlotte, and the truth of the matter was that it was rarely a stranger who killed you; it was usually someone you held dear. As Keller knew too well, the sheep spends its life worried about the wolf, only to be eaten by the farmer.

Yes," she replied. "He's our sheep. We lost six of them yesterday after a creeper accident damaging their pen. We've brought one home already, and this grey one is the only one left after the wolf pack attack..." "I saw that," Braydon said. "Well—I saw the end of it. This taiga forest is full of wolves—not a very safe place for sheep, I'm afraid." "Hold on another sec," Jack said, putting a little, soft hand of curves and lines in the air. "You saw the battle when the sheep died? You watched Steve get killed, and then you waited around and only came out when I was in trouble?!" Alex could hear anger in the kid's voice. She reached down and grasped his soft, curved shoulder, feeling his strange muscles tense up at her touch. Jack looked up then softened. "Would you prefer that I didn't help you?" Braydon replied with his dark eyes narrowed. "This is my home. I see almost everything that happens here. Yes, I saw the wolves attack the sheep, and I saw your friend fall in battle, but I was too far at the time to intervene. When I followed you two and your sheep, I was trying to help. When you took shelter in the cave, I was trying to determine whether or not you were building on this land..." "But why didn't you—?!" Jack started, but Alex interrupted. "We thank you, Braydon, for helping us. Little Jack here," she said, looking down at the boy with 'shut the heck up' eyes, "would have surely been killed if you weren't watching over us." The ranger bowed slightly. "No problem," he said, bouncing lightly on his feet again. "Now, let's move on. I don't like to stay in one place for long." "Why not?" Jack asked. "When one lingers near the shadows, hostile mobs appear." Alex and Jack exchanged glances. "Can you tell us how to get home?" Alex asked. She wanted to ask Braydon more. She wanted to figure out the Minecraftian's connection to the Divining Pool and how he got here. Jack was probably wondering the same thing. If they could somehow figure out the ways that the Divining Pool pulled people into Vortexia, then maybe the kid could find a way back to ... wherever he came from. Jack certainly wasn't from here. He knew a lot about the world and the ways of things, but he was a completely different creature than the rest of them.

He had nearly gone insane looking for her. “It was some idiot in camo gear. They looked military to me. Those fuckers took Lara. She is my mate and I didn’t even know until I smelled her pissed off wolf. When are we going to take them out?” His wolf was fighting to get out and find its mate. “She needs me.” “Brant and Loren will be here soon. She is a witch and she captured a rogue warlock. He’s the bastard who gave Cal the serum

You have to learn to see things through the eyes of different people. Expect things that are not worth doing, based on your system of values, to be well worth it for someone else. For instance, if you wouldn't consider stealing two dollars from someone else's unguarded desk, don't imagine that everyone else thinks the same.

Just—you aren’t gonna whip me, right?” Alex keened. “In this position? No, of course not. I won’t even cane you,” Tracht said,

the five of us.” He stopped

The four of them joined the battle: Dave, Robo-Steve and Alex with their swords and Porkins with his bow. Meanwhile Carl was riding on the back of his wolf, biting and pounding on the skeletons. The rest of the wolf pack—there were about fifteen of them in total, Dave guessed—and the golems were all fighting the skeletons as well. It was a chaotic battle, with bits of bone flying everywhere, but soon all the wither skeletons were defeated, leaving nothing but bones, coal and skulls on the ground.

In Georgia, after the Trail of Tears, most traces of the remarkable Cherokee Nation disappeared. The Cherokee mission schools were torn down, and the town of New Echota was destroyed. The land where the council house and the taverns and the missionary houses had once stood was made into fields. All traces of the proud capital were plowed under like the rotting stalks of last year's corn. Now, in all of Georgia and Alabama, there is nothing left of the nation that had lived there for a thousand years before the white man came. The Cherokees are gone, pulled up by the roots and cast to the westward wind. They are gone like the buffalo and the elk which once roamed the mountain valleys. They have disappeared like the passenger pigeons which once darkened the sky as great flocks flew over the river routes from north to south and back again. Like wayah, the wolf, and like the chestnut trees, the Cherokees are no longer found in the mountains of Georgia. Now only the names remain: Dahlonega, Chattahoochee, Oostenaula, Etowah, Nantahala, Tennessee, Ellijay, Tallulah, Chatooga, Nacoochee, Hiawasee, Chickamauga, Tugaloo, Chattanooga . . .