Garou Quotes

Dream tonight of peacock tails, Diamond fields and spouter whales. Ills are many, blessings few, But dreams tonight will shelter you. Let the vampire's creaking wing Hide the stars while banshees sing; Let the ghouls gorge all night long; Dreams will keep you safe and strong. Skeletons with poison teeth, Risen from the world beneath, Ogre, troll, and loup-garou, Bloody wraith who looks like you, Shadow on the window shade, Harpies in a midnight raid, Goblins seeking tender prey, Dreams will chase them all away. Dreams are like a magic cloak Woven by the fairy folk, Covering from top to toe, Keeping you from winds and woe. And should the Angel come this night To fetch your soul away from light, Cross yourself, and face the wall: Dreams will help you not at all.

Well. We’ll just have to hope that this wasn’t a loup-garou, I guess.” “If it was a louper, you’d know,” Bob said wisely. “In the middle of this town, you’d have a dozen people dead every time the full moon came around. What’s going on?” “A dozen people are dying every time the full moon comes around.

I just smiled and wished hard for the waitress to come back from Cancun or Mazatlan or wherever she was so I could order my martini.

You’re great at fixing things. If anyone could do it, you could. But you can’t do this one. You can’t fix me. I’m broke.

Glaubst du, es gibt mehr Wölfe?" Mehrwölfe? Die Schafe guckten erschrocken. Ein Werwolf war schlimm genug. Keines von ihnen wollte je einem Mehrwolf begegnen.

Are you reading this, human? I hope so. Becuase here is the truth. I am a werewolf. Quod Hominem, genus gerulfos, Warwoof, wehrwulf, wearul, varulv, garwall, garoul, warou, looup-garou. Lycanthrope. We have been known by many names over the centuries and none of them accurate, for we are neither wolf nor man but a breed apart. We have been with you since before the dawn of time.

There was a bounty on my head, it was four days before Christmas, and I was having turtle gumbo with a merman, an undead pirate king, two loups-garou, and my best friend - a human pregnant with the half-elven child who had unknowingly helped set this whole debacle in motion. Plus a newbie vampire who didn't like the smell of food anymore.

I guess us folks in California are kind of straitlaced and old-fashioned." Hahaha, I thought on the way downstairs. I never thought I'd say those words with a straight face...

Je coulais un regard à George à moitié nu avec sa serviette de toilette puis à Barckley complètement nu avec son... Rien. Un vampire et un loup-garou. Je secouai la tête. C'était pourtant évident:j'avais encore fait l'un de ses rêves où j'étais Anita Blake

When I see you, Jolie, I see a woman who is far more than she realizes but who will someday grow into her powers. One who is much stronger than those who would trap her inside their cages or try to put her to harness. One with a bold intelligence, with whom I can laugh. One who surprises me." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was so soft I had to strain to hear. "I see a woman who makes me feel alive again, like a man, and not like a wraith who has lived beyond his usefulness in a world that no longer needs him.

One should never giggle in handcuffs unless one were naked. I was sure I'd read that rule somewhere.

...el terreno de lo posible es muy amplio cuando no hay temor a que la luz se encienda.

Then I shall tell you the truthful answers to the questions you asked, about my own intentions and motivations. They are not so simple."... He cocked an eyebrow and his cobalt eyes took on a playful sparkle. "If I were to avow that you are my immortal life's great passion, that I would give up immortality itself to be at your side and in your bed, you would not believe me, n'est-ce pas?

Jamás te hubiese hecho daño, no podría te quiero" "No puedes obligarle a amarte si ha elegido a otra. Debes dejarle ir. No debes confundir el deseo de dominar y proteger con el amor" "Quise ser lo q no soy y ahora no consigo ser lo que debería. Soy un monstruo" "Se quien soy, como se atreve a decir que no lo sé. Me encanta ser licantropa. Adoro la dulce transformacion y la belleza que me da en medio de la noche. Cuando salgo a cazar, cazo animales salvajes,según las leyes de la diosa. No mato animales domésticos solo para divertirme" "Según la historia de los humanos estamos malditos" "Soy una loup garou, una volkodlak una metamórfica. No me convierto exactamente en una loba sino en algo parecido" "Cuando un lider muere por el diente de un lobo, el vencedor liderea la manada. Cuando un lider muere por el diente del destino, se convoca la Ordalía, porque solo puede liderear lo más ágiles y fuertes" "Ya no hay tierras salvajes donde escondernos. No podemos correr en manadas por las montañas donde los viajeros desaparecen durante meses, no hay selvas negras que lleve días sin recorrer y hace muchos siglos desde que reinábamos en pequeños reinos en el centro oscuro de Europa donde nos veneraban como dioses. Hay homo sapiens por todas partes, son más numerosos que nosotros, y el homo lupus debe convivir con ellos" "Aunque no puedan transformarse, son la bestia de sus propias pesadillas. Es una bendicion para nosotros poder exorcizar estos demonios. A veces es nuestra maldicion" "Que dice la leyenda? El hombre lobo puede morir por la bala de plata que dispara quien le ha amado..." "Cuando amamos a alguien queremos que sea nuestra pareja en forma humana y de lobo

I didn’t know what that was and neither did he, so he said “They believe if you don’t go to Mass you’ll turn into a wolf.” “Will you?” I said. “We don’t go,” he said, “and we haven’t.” Maybe that’s why they didn’t waste any sweat searching for my father, they were afraid to, they thought he’d turned into a wolf; he’d be a prime candidate since he never went to Mass at all. Les maudits anglais, the damned English, they mean it; they’re sure we’re all damned literally. There should be a loup-garou story in Quebec Folk Tales, perhaps there was and Mr. Percival took it out, it was too rough for him. But in some of the stories they do it the other way around, the animals are human inside and they take their fur skins off as easily as getting undressed.

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.

I have fourteen black wives an' one white, de chiefest one. I would sure enough shoo her away dis minute if you tek her place in my bed tonight, Mama Sam Moon." Was sex all these people ever thought about? I guess life was short back then, and nobody had much time to waste on anything else.

The werewolf by the moon. The wererat by money. (Loup garou par la lune. - Rat garou par les thunes.)

You said...we have a couple of new pack members?" Paul asked. Everyone but Allan laughed. Allan folded his arms. "This has to be a record for the fast growing lupus garou pack in the West. One little pack of six has increased to twenty-four.

Agora que estamos tentando possuir uma literatura brasileira, sem o estreito regionalismo e pondo na Arte o mundo poliforme das esperanças nativas, o folclore sertanejo terá um papel eficiente e decisivo fixando a fisionomia espiritual do Povo, nas suas manifestações de crença, atitude ancestralmente definidora da moral coletiva em face duma geração que interroga e analisa. É o coração humano, inquieto e palpitando em presença do susto, do sobrenatural e do inexplicável. Sob a jaqueta de lã do Bretão ou na gibona de couro do vaqueiro, o pavor é idêntico, vendo, debaixo das oiticicas imensas ou na penumbra dos menires batidos pelo luar, a figura ligeira e negra, impressionadora e terrível do "loup-garou", do lobisomem, capelobo dos índios, erudito "versipellio", herança atávica do medo na alma triste dos homens... "Lobisomem Sertanejo" In: Revista do Brasil, São Paulo, Ano VIII, n. 94 p. 129-133, out. 1923

So,” Murphy said. “All we need to do is get you up to the top of the pit, and then you’re going to go one-on-four with a bunch of armed FBI agents-cum-werewolves and beat them in time to go up against the loup-garou that we couldn’t stop before with all of your magical gizmos and a building full of police officers.” “Essentially,” I answered.

We’ll just have to hope that this wasn’t a loup-garou, I guess.” “If it was a louper, you’d know,” Bob said wisely. “In the middle of this town, you’d have a dozen people dead every time the full moon came around. What’s going on?” “A dozen people are dying every time the full moon comes around.

Die Schafe wollten weg. Sie versuchten es zuerst mit Protestblöken — ein bewährtes Rezept gegen die Übel der Welt. Wenn man nur lang genug blökte, passierte etwas, meistens das Richtige. Doch Rebecca, die sonst dafür sorgte, daß das Richtige passierte, machte nur große, erschrockene Augen und ließ die Arme hängen. Die Schafe blökten und blökten. Irgendwann hörten sie mit dem Blöken wieder auf und schwiegen drohend. Aber auch das interessierte niemanden.

Es war ein brillanter Plan. Die Sache hatte nur einen Hacken: den Haken an der Futterkammertür. An diesem Haken hing ein Schloss. Ein Schloss, das man nur durch Zählen öffnen konnte. Die Schafe konnten nicht besonders gut zählen, aber einen Versuch war es wert. ‘Drei!’, sagte Heide. ‘Acht!’, schnaubte Othello. ‘Vier!’, blökte das Winterlamm. Das Futterkammerschloss zeigte sich wenig beeindruckt von ihrem Zählkünsten.

Die Schafe schwiegen beeindruckt. Übernatürlich! Noch natürlicher als natürlich! Gras was natürlich, Kraftfutter nicht ganz so natürlich, und Plastik was gar nicht natürlich und fast ungenießbar. Etwas Übernatürliches hingegen mußte eine wahre Delikatesse sein!

Cloud war das wolligste Schaf der Herde, und sie füllte sich überall wohl. Wollig und wohlig hingen zusammen.

Sie waren in einen Irrgarten immergrüner Hecken eingetaucht, und hinter jeder Hecke wartete eine Ecke, wartete eine Ecke, wartete eine Ecke, und dann noch eine Hecke. Nichts als Ecken und Hecken. Unnatürlich.

Oh. C’est vraiment l’onomatopée du moment.