Dire Wolf Quotes

CHORONZON: I am a dire wolf, prey-stalking, lethal prowler. MORPHEUS: I am a hunter, horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing. CHORONZON: I am a horsefly, horse-stinging, hunter-throwing. MORPHEUS: I am a spider, fly-consuming, eight legged. CHORONZON: I am a snake, spider-devouring, posion-toothed. MORPHEUS: I am an ox, snake-crushing, heavy-footed. CHORONZON: I am an anthrax, butcher bacterium, warm-life destroying. MORPHEUS: I am a world, space-floating, life-nurturing. CHORONZON: I am a nova, all-exploding... planet-cremating. MORPHEUS: I am the Universe -- all things encompassing, all life embracing. CHORONZON: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds... of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord? MORPHEUS: I am hope.

I want you to back yourself into a corner. Give yourself no choice but to succeed. Let the consequences of failure become so dire and so unthinkable that you’ll have no choice but to do whatever it takes to succeed.

I thought about what he was saying. “Old Long Walker talked about this Dire Wolf,” I said. “Is that a man or an animal.” “A little of both, I reckon… and neither.” He got quiet again, sipped his coffee, reading the window glass. The wind screamed and howled beyond it, out in the feral night.

We stared hard at each other for several long seconds. Her with her shotgun and dogs, me with Wil. The wind howled around the outside walls of the barn, and the old structure groaned.

He, sure enough, put a bullet in my back and was a part of two other killings, but the bodies were so mangled it could only have been done by a madman. Not that Crow was sane, just not that insane.

The Dire Wolf killed the Jakes,” he said. “Who’s this Dire Wolf?” I asked. Figured he was talking about someone he knew. He spoke in a whisper, almost reverently. “The Dire Wolf is the curse of the Downstream People, the Arkansa. He is an evil spirit of the Quapaw.” I sighed and shook my head, knowing how these old Indians liked to throw in a bunch of mythical tribal mumbo-jumbo and superstition to deflect blame from someone they knew. “Well, you know where I can find this Dire Wolf fella?” I asked. “He cannot be found,” the old man said. “Really. You have reason to believe he’s taken off to other parts?” He said nothing for a full quarter minute, his black eyes intently on mine, searching. I could see contempt in them and a sadness. Made me nervous. “No,” old Long Walker answered at last. “He has not departed. Now that he has awakened, he will kill again.

Penelope decided a crippled-up second lieutenant didn’t have much of a future in the military, as well as no longer fitting her criteria for dashing.  With encouragement from her, Bob Tregonne saw his opportunity and took it. Poor bastard. Last I heard they married and moved to Washington where Bob got a promotion and a new post. My guess, he won’t be the last of the woman’s fools, especially in Washington society. Probably be a long list of husbands and lovers in that bucket.

Reason why scars form is to show that man can survive his own stupidity" Anastasius Focht talking to Phelan Kell on the Dire Wolf

Never been around dogs much. My mom had a collie when I was a boy, but she was a gentle animal who stayed around the house, mostly. My father, and the men he knew, all had braces of big surly hunting dogs they used for going after wild hogs. The times he took me with him on those hunts, I was more afraid of those dogs than the feral hogs. Think they could sense it. Always felt like they would’ve taken the least opportunity to sink their teeth into me.

I’m Caitlin McDonald,” she said, loosening the thick wool scarf from around her neck and down off her face, motioning her chin toward the big male. “You’ve already met Hector and his gang.” When Major Standback said widow I pictured an older woman. Not this one. She was young, no more than thirty. The cold on the skin of her fine features made her face shine. She had the clean, clear beauty of a china doll.

Zlata Dromenko was a stout Cossack about my height with a thick single eyebrow giving her a serious, severe look. I found out she’d been a mail-order bride who came over from Ukraine to marry a local farmer, a Russian immigrant. He died, though, and now Mrs. Dromenko worked in the hospital bullying patients like me. I called her “Hun,” because she made me think of Attila. I was curious as to how Mr. Dromenko died but was afraid to ask.

The deep bowl of frozen air that lay still across the land promised to make the clear night colder than the day. Through the warm glow of the dining room window, we could see Standback and a woman taking their meal. A servant came in to say something to him, and he looked out the window at our approach in the remaining daylight. Standback met us on the porch as we walked our horses up.

The general’s daughter swept into the room like an angelic visitation. Never seen such a vision of the feminine in my life. It hit me between the eyes like someone pressed a live telegraph wire to the back of my head. She came amongst us boys so coquettish and alight with laughter that we all took on dumbfounded stupidity, not quite knowing what to say or how to act.

The doctor said the cold probably kept him from bleeding to death, but the body of his mother and the buffalo robe stayed him from freezing. It was a miracle he survived either, bleeding or freezing to death.

I gently urged Clyde toward a big elm tree standing twenty yards from the front of the cabin and reined him to a stop partially behind the wide trunk. Pulled my rifle out of its boot and rested it across the big gelding’s withers. “You Wilbur Redhand?” He kept whittling without looking up. “Who’s askin?” “I’m Deputy Marshal Jubal Smoak. Looking for an outlaw named Crow Redhand. If you’re Wilbur, I was told you’re his kin.” He nodded and kept whittling. Presently, he said, “Crow ain’t here. He come, but he left. Needed doctoring. Someone shot him in the foot.” “Reckon that’d been me,” I said. “Had a shootout down near Fairland. I shot him in the foot. He shot me in the back.” He squinted at me. “Surprised you’re alive. Crow usually aims to kill. Never knew him to miss.

Si la trahison n’a pas accru la simplicité, la confiance plus haute, l’étendue de l’amour, on vous aura trahi bien inutilement, et vous pourrez vous dire qu’il n’est rien arrivé

You’re Lady Foster. The Dire Wolf of Team Fancypants. And I gotta say, you look awfully cute in a crown.

Makade-ma'iingan walked slowly toward him out of the gloom. She circled him, her head low, her cerulean eyes lancing into him like arrows. Her voice spoke in his grandmother’s tongue. “Myeengun, you must rise and finish your work, rip out the throats of the whites who oppress and pursue us. The spirit of your grandmother, the spirits of all your people, demand it. I am Otshee monetoo, and I command it.” She lunged, sinking her yellow teeth deep into his chest where he’d pressed the knife. The flash of pain struck him like a sudden bolt from angry clouds. It reached so much beyond his level to endure, that this time he did cry out. His feral howl screaming out into the cold night, rolling through the valley like a keening from the damned.

Thank you,” she repeated, wishing he didn’t feel so tense in her arms. “I mean it, Keefe. I don’t know if I’d be able to get through this without you.” “Yes you could,” he argued, finally relaxing as he leaned into the hug to whisper, “You’re Lady Foster. The Dire Wolf of Team Fancypants. And I gotta say, you look awfully cute in a crown.

it's in the genes

Many generations past, before even the Spaniards came, hundreds of years ago, maybe even thousands.” He shrugged, shook his head. “My ancestors lived along the Mississippi. Back then they were known as the Downstream People. Moundbuilders, it’s said. No one knows why they did this, not now, but most tell that the mounds were spiritual, the dwelling places for spirits, good and bad. The spirit of the Shanka’ Tunka is one kind of spirit that stayed there, an evil one. Legend has it he awakens every hundred years or so, roams the land looking for a likely soul to take, someone who ain’t too far from evil himself.

Taqwā means to protect oneself against the harmful or evil consequences of one's conduct. If, then, by "fear of God" one means fear of the consequences of one's actions—whether in this world or the next (fear of punishment of the Last Day)—one is absolutely right. In other words, it is the fear that comes from an acute sense of responsibility, here and in the hereafter, and not the fear of a wolf or of an uncanny tyrant, for the God of the Qur’ān has unbounded mercy—although He also wields dire punishment, both in this world and in the hereafter.

He looked like a shlub, but he gave off smells of smilodon and short-faced cave bear and dire wolf and griffin. He was no shlub.

Conrad mi prese il mento tra le dita e mi fece rialzare lo sguardo che avevo abbassato. «Non importa quante volte dovrò chiederglielo o cosa dovrò fare. Gli farò dire di sì» promise. «Diventerò un lupo degno di te.» «Lo sei già» gli assicurai, perché per me lo era davvero. Per un secondo chiuse gli occhi. «Non sai quanto mi emozioni sentirtelo dire» gemette, prima di incrociare di nuovi i miei occhi spaiati. «Ma farò in modo che tuo padre accetti.» «Davvero?» «Sì. Perché so che per te è importante.» Mi tremò il labbro inferiore e le lacrime mi punsero i lati degli occhi. Lo avrebbe fatto per me. “Ti amiamo, splendore.” Stupido lupo! Non avrebbe dovuto dirglielo per primo, non era giusto! Gli occhi di Conrad si riempirono di nuovo di desiderio e lussuria. Le sue braccia mi avvolsero e mi tirarono verso il basso, facendomi aderire al suo corpo muscoloso. «Ti amo anch’io, bestiaccia»

«Devi smetterla di farti rapire» brontolò Hank, aiutando Mihai a smontare dalla sella. «Ci farai morire dalla preoccupazione» sbuffò Jessica. «Lo so» mugugnò il mio bicolore. “Ci hanno colto di sorpresa, non è colpa nostra...” «L’importante è che stia bene e sia a casa» affermai, tenendolo saldamente per la vita. Si appoggiò contro di me, facendomi desiderare di poter dormire con lui, di poterlo sentire più vicino. «Sarà meglio che Mihai si riposi» asserì Furio, prima di guardarmi. «Puoi portarlo in camera sua.» Lo fissai sbalordito, proprio come tutti gli altri Mi stava dando il permesso di entrare in casa? “No, vogliamo dire, che stiamo aspettando? Abbiamo persino il benestare di papà,” mi incitò il lupo. Senza indugiare oltre, presi il mio compagno in braccio e mi diressi verso l’ingresso. «Starete un po’ stretti nel letto di Mihai, ma per stanotte fatevelo bastare» borbottò Furio, prima che potessi varcare la porta. Poi la sua espressione si fece dura come la roccia. «Ma se sento un solo rumore strano, vengo a prenderti di peso e ti riporto nella stalla! Siamo intesi?» “Non fate sesso sotto il mio tetto,” avevo afferrato il succo.

As much as he wanted to swear at her and rage, he couldn’t. The heat died in an instant, the fury dissolved, and in its place, he felt only pain for the girl he’d grown to love. His heart ached for what she’d witnessed, suffering as dire as the loss he’d suffered. Because

Sex isn’t the only thing you need, Wolfe. I’ve never met anyone in such dire need of a friend.” Kelsey

The art of story-telling has not been declining from the beginning. It has been declining for only about twelve thousand years. One reason for the decline is a dietary deficiency: the scarcity of Wooly Rhinoceros Meat and of Dire Wolf Meat. And the other reason is the disappearance of good places where good stories may be told.

EMOTIONS GALORE The three carefree and naïve brothers are heading into a path towards a foest nearby. Walking joyfully at a fast pace while singing, Mark, in front, suddenly notices the figure of what he believes to be a fox in the distance. He continues to walk, but he soon realizes that it is a wolf. So he stops promptly, as well as his two brothers behind him. Then he says quietly to the others with a trembling voice, fear breaking him down: "We should backtrack quietly. I saw a wolf approaching." The wolf having almost caught up, begins to say to them in a soft-fierce tone : "Your Father, the Kig ..." At the same time, the three brothers are surprised and look at each other after having suddenly stopped their mad dash. then the wolf continues to say to them : "ordered me to tell you that ..." EMOTIONS A PROFUSION On sent déjà l'excitation de nos trois frères, Marc, Pierrre et Luc, qui commencent leurs vacances d'été en partant à l'aventure, ne sachant ce que leur réserve l'avenir, mais enthousiastes et prêts à relever les défis de chaque jour. Ces trois camarades insouciants et naïfs se dirigent donc dans un sentier menant à une forêt non loin de leur demeure. Marchant joyeusement et en chantant, à une cadence entraînante, Marc, en tête de file, remarque soudainement la silhouette de ce qu'il croit être un renard au loin. Il continue alors à marcher, mais il se rend bientôt compte que c'est un loup. Alors il s'arrête promptement, ainsi que ses deux frères derrière lui. Il dit alors tout bas aux autres, avec un trémolo dans la voix, la peur l'envahissant : "Nous devrions faire marche arrière tranquillement. Je vois un loup qui s'approche." Le loup les ayant presque rattrapés, commence à leur dire d'un ton mi-doux, mi-féroce : "Votre Père, le Roi ..." Au même moment les trois frères se regardent avec surprise, après avoir brusquement arrêté leur course. Le loup continue ensuite à leur parler : "... m'a ordonné de vous dire que ...

He raised his head slightly, peering at me over his hands. “Are you torturing me because I saw you naked? Is that what this is? I’m being punished for those three seconds of bliss? I don’t see how that’s fair.” Bliss. He called seeing me almost naked bliss. It was probably a figure of speech or whatever, but as a girl in dire need of flattery, I was taking that word and tucking it away for later.

With hurricane magic, we can pew pew all the baddies and defeat the Dire Wolf.

And evolution wasn't even properly invented until the late 1800s. Is that enough time to get a Labrador retriever from a dire wolf? I think not.

She knew by looking into the man’s eyes that he was better than average. Stronger than average. Smarter than average.

Nothing had gone to plan so far, but he’d learned long ago that nothing ever does.

«Mamma!» la sgridò Furio. «Ma che cazzo!?» Lei si girò di scatto e lo fulminò. «Non dire parolacce!» La fiera rise sguaiatamente. “Ah… Ci sembra di avere di nuovo dieci anni.” Furio ringhiò. «Sono un uomo, ma’. Parlo come mi pare e piace.» Io gli andai vicino e gli accarezzai il braccio. «Dai, amore, fai il bravo.» Lui brontolò, ma si calmò. Le sue guance presero un po’ di colore per via del vezzeggiativo che avevo usato, ma l’avevo fatto apposta, perché sapevo che lo avrebbe ammorbidito. “Ci piace essere chiamati così,” fece le fusa la fiera. Peggy mi fissò come se avessi appena conquistato il mondo intero con la sola forza delle parole. «Che la Dea sia lodata!» si commosse. «Io non sono mai riuscita a farmi ascoltare da lui.» «Non è vero» protestò Furio. «Quando avevi sei anni ti dicevo di non arrampicarti sugli alberi perché avevo paura potessi farti male, e tu cosa facevi?» lo sfidò. “Noi siamo saliti sull’albero più alto del giardino.” «Mi sono mai rotto qualcosa?» ribatté Furio, irritato. “Mai.” «E per questo dovresti ringraziare la Dea» sbuffò sua madre che, a quanto pareva, le era molto devota

Another example of the same attitude, this time on a less cosmic and more humble scale, comes from the life of the warrior-poet Egil Skallagrimsson. According to his saga, toward the end of his life, one of his sons died, after the others had died before him. Such was the depth of Egil's grief that he planned to kill himself, but his surviving daughter convinced him instead to use his poetic talent to compose a memorial poem for his lost children. Egil's poem is called The Wreck Of Sons (Sonatorrek). In it, Egil bemoans his lot in life and curses Odin, his patron god, for having made him suffer so much. But Egil finds that this suffering has also carried a gift within it, for his anguish inspires him to compose better poetry than ever before. He lets loose an eloquent cry of both despair and joy, or at least contented acceptance. The final three stanzas read: I offer nothing With an eager heart To the greatest of gods, The willful Odin. But I must concede That the friend of the wise Has paid me well For all my wounds. The battle-tested Foe of the wolf Has given me A towering art, And wits to discern In those around me Who wishes well, Who wishes ill. Times are dire, Yet glad is my heart, Full of courage, Without complaint. I wait for the goddess Of dirt and of death Who stands on the headland To bear me away.

The Duster sat in the shadows of the old barn like a dire wolf in the recesses of a cave. Beauregard tossed the shotgun in the passenger seat. He climbed in and fired up the engine. It roared to life, stirring up the decades of dust in the barn. The duals played a concerto as he shifted it into gear and burst out of the barn. He skirted around the remains of the van, rolled over the body in the grass and hit the blacktop doing 40 mph.