Katherine Wolf Quotes

It's inhuman to take your books away before you know the end.

People say we can't do anything about the way the world is; they say it's set in stone. I say it looks like stone, but it's mostly paint and cardboard.

Stories can start revolutions.

Wolves, and stars, and snow: Those things made sense.

The set of her chin suggested she might have slain a dragon before breakfast. The look in her eyes suggested she might, in fact, have eaten it.

Wolves are the witches of the animal world.

You will never be tougher than you are now. Children are the toughest creatures on the planet. They endure.

Humans, on the whole, Feo could take or leave; there was only one person she loved properly, with the sort of fierce pride that gets people into trouble, or prison, or history books.

Cowardice is for cowards. Fear is for people with brains and eyes and functioning nerve endings.

It's dancing! It's magical, actually. A kind of slowish magic. Like writing with your feet.

Wolves, like children, are not meant to lead calm lives.

Feo wished she could explain - that the beauty of the world is itself a kind of company, and they lived in one of the most beautiful spots in the world. 'You can make the snow a kind of friend, if you know how.

Her face was built on the blueprint used for snow leopards and saints.

Feo shook her head; she couldn't speak. The moments in which the world turns suddenly kind can feel like a punctured lung. She stood in the marble hall and cried until tears flooded down her nose and chin and dropped on to the heads of the two bloodstained wolves at her feet.

Cardinal Campeggio has implored Katherine to bow to the king's will, accept that her marriage is invalid and retire to a convent. Certainly, she says sweetly, she will become a nun: if the king will become a monk.

He sees the entire picture, and HE DOES NOT MAKE MISTAKES. He knows this is part of the story He is writing for me, for my family, and for all of the creation He is making right. It is not a plan B, and I trust that.

Don’t wait to celebrate the life you have been given, even if it looks different from the one you thought you would have.

Perhaps some detours aren’t detours at all. Perhaps they are actually the path.

No harm in listening. Alexei's a child, not a wizard. We don't lose control of our brains by listening.

Queen Katherine, whose boys have all died, takes it patiently: that is to say, she suffers.

How quickly we forget the miracles of our past as we step into an uncertain future, fearing we’ve used up our allotment of God’s provision and we’re all out of miracles.

In order not to make a liar out of Henry or Katherine, one or the other, the committee men think up circumstances in which the match may have been partly consummated, or somewhat consummated, and to do this they have to imagine every disaster and shame that can occur between a man and a woman alone in a room in the dark.

To the three men in gray coats and golden buttons just cresting the hill, the pantomime was a strange one. The speck of green merged with the gray, and the black with the flash of red, as they shot off toward north.

I can give God the glory, and it can still hurt.

Hard work always hurts somewhere.

God could arrest you for this,’ said Sergei. ‘This is better than murder.

The set of her chin suggested she might have slain a dragon before breakfast. The look in her eyes suggested she might, in fact, have eaten

Could there be a more comforting thought than knowing you are being prayed for when your own prayers have been stretched to their breaking point?

If hope is only rooted in an outcome, then your expectations will crush you.

Wolves, like children, are not born to lead calm lives.

I don’t think any of us can tell our most vulnerable stories in the moments they occur for fear that they may undo us. We have to wait until we are in a season of safety before we can open up our deepest wounds.

I heard somewhere that challenges make you either bitter or beautiful (like Esther was, I suppose). Symbolically, with a face that was paralyzed on one side, I was choosing to be beautiful . . . gorgeous, in fact.

It was a surreal vision, a waking dream, a stark reminder that perhaps in the breaking of precious things, something even more precious than we can imagine might be unleashed. Perhaps in the breaking, we can find the healing we long for.

I can give God the glory, and it can still hurt. I used to cry myself to sleep every night. But I have learned, above all other lessons, that healing for each of us is spiritual. We will be fully restored in heaven, but we are actually healed on earth right now. My experience has caused me to redefine healing and to discover a hope that heals the most broken places: our souls. What

God’s works are powerfully evident in His healing of our hurts, but perhaps even more profoundly in the not-yet healing. That’s why how we suffer matters. Suffering strong offers a unique testimony to all who witness it, unveiling an “in the midst of” God who is too big and too good not to be worshiped, whether or not our longed-for outcome materializes.

I was learning that vulnerability and grief were love’s inevitable companions. I

We have learned that when everything else is gone, hope remains. Perhaps

It’s a despairing place to be when we feel like no human can fully understand our unique pain—and the God who can understand seems to be part of the problem.

The snow gossiped and hinted at storms and birds. It told a new story every morning. Few grinned and sniffed the sharpness of the air. It’s the most talkative weather there is...

Mislabeled the sign,” a cocky voice called from the door. “Should read ‘Doggie Daycare’ with the number of pups packed into this place.

What has happened to me is extreme; however, it is not that different from what everyone deals with. I am a sort of microcosm for what we all feel. I can barely walk, even with a cane, but who feels free even if they can? My face is paralyzed, but who feels beautiful even when they look normal? I have no coordination in my right hand, so I can’t hold things, even my child, but who feels like a competent parent even if all their faculties are intact? For months I could not eat, and even today I have difficulty swallowing, but who feels fully satisfied even if they can enjoy every delectable treat they desire? I am tired almost all the time now, but who always feels energized to engage fully in their life? My voice is messed up, but who feels understood even if they can speak plainly? I have double vision, but who sees everything clearly even if they can see normally? My future is uncertain, but whose isn’t? So

Harsh, yes . . . but the question is, have you picked your prince? Because that is what you do, you choose him, and you know what he is. And then, when you have chosen, you say yes to him—yes, that is possible, yes, that can be done. If you don’t like Henry, you can go abroad and find another prince, but I tell you—if this were Italy, Katherine would be cold in her tomb.

My point is that you will keep your hands off my daughter if you value their current position at the ends of your arms.’ Rakov snorted. ‘That is somewhat unfeminine.’ ‘Not at all. It seems profoundly feminine to me.

The call to give thanks, not at the end, but in the midst, began to reverberate inside us. We may never arrive at the ending we hoped for, so if we waited until then to celebrate all that had been given to us, that celebration might never come at all. We were learning, ever so slowly, the truth of what John Newton wrote: “All shall work together for good; everything is needful that He sends; nothing can be needful that He withholds.” We

Except here he crouched before her, all breakable brown eyes, old scars and the shortest temper she’d ever encountered. And unlike every other guy she’d messed around with before, this was the one man she couldn’t shake.

There were, in Feo's experience, five kinds of cold. There was wind cold, which Feo barely felt. It was fussy and loud and turned your cheeks as red as if you'd been slapped, but couldn't kill you even if it tried. There was snow cold, which plucked at your arms and chapped your lips, but brought real rewards. It was Feo's favorite weather: The snow was soft and good for making snow wolves. There was ice cold, which might take the skin off your palm if you let it, but probably wouldn't if you were careful. Ice cold smelled sharp and knowing. It often came with blue skies and was good for skating. Feo had respect for ice cold. Then there was hard cold, which was when the ice cold got deeper and deeper until at the end of a month you couldn't remember if the summer had ever really existed. Hard cold could be cruel. Birds died in midflight. It was the kind of cold that you booted and kicked your way through. And then there was blind cold. Blind cold smelled of metal and granite. It took all the sense out of your brain and blew the snow into your eyes until they were glued shut and you had to rub spit into them before they would blink. Blind cold was forty degrees below zero. This was the kind of cold that you didn't sit down to think in, unless you wanted to be found dead in the same place in May or June. Feo had felt blind cold only once.

In the gathering and in the praying and in the breaking of bread (or crust, as it were), the common elements were transubstantiated into a holy experience, as holy as any ancient cathedral or Communion because they were offered, not in the absence of suffering, but right in the midst of it.

I dream I'm a wolf sometimes, and when I wake up, I'm panting and my fur's on alert and I'm feeling Yeah, the world could hurt me, but I could hurt the world right back even harder. Like there's a dangerous, hard part of me chained inside, struggling to go free and just, I dunno, get even. Then I go see what's for breakfast.

Finn pulled away from her mouth to look at Navi, her full lips swollen and a dusky flush on her cheeks. “Do or die time, babe,” he murmured against her mouth. “You let this beast off the leash and I’m not going to stop.” Her mouth curled into a sensual smile, and her hazel eyes glowed with the challenge. “Do your worst, Finn Kelly.

Let's press ahead a little further by sketching out a few variations among short shorts: ONE THRUST OF INCIDENT. (Examples: Paz, Mishima, Shalamov, Babel, W. C. Williams.) In these short shorts the time span is extremely brief, a few hours, maybe even a few minutes: Life is grasped in symbolic compression. One might say that these short shorts constitute epiphanies (climactic moments of high grace or realization) that have been tom out of their contexts. You have to supply the contexts yourself, since if the contexts were there, they'd no longer be short shorts. LIFE ROLLED UP. (Examples: Tolstoy's 'Alyosha the Pot,' Verga's 'The Wolf,' D. H. Lawrence's 'A Sick Collier.') In these you get the illusion of sustained narrative, since they deal with lives over an extended period of time; but actually these lives are so compressed into typicality and paradigm, the result seems very much like a single incident. Verga's 'Wolf' cannot but repeat her passions, Tolstoy's Alyosha his passivity. Themes of obsession work especially well in this kind of short short. SNAP-SHOT OR SINGLE FRAME. (Examples: Garda Marquez, Boll, Katherine Anne Porter.) In these we have no depicted event or incident, only an interior monologue or flow of memory. A voice speaks, as it were, into the air. A mind is revealed in cross-section - and the cut is rapid. One would guess that this is the hardest kind of short short to write: There are many pitfalls such as tiresome repetition, being locked into a single voice, etc. LIKE A FABLE. (Examples: Kafka, Keller, von Kleist, Tolstoy's 'Three Hermits.') Through its very concision, this kind of short short moves past realism. We are prodded into the fabulous, the strange, the spooky. To write this kind of fable-like short short, the writer needs a supreme self-confidence: The net of illusion can be cast only once. When we read such fable-like miniatures, we are prompted to speculate about significance, teased into shadowy parallels or semi allegories. There are also, however, some fables so beautifully complete (for instance Kafka's 'First Sorrow') that we find ourselves entirely content with the portrayed surface and may even take a certain pleasure in refusing interpretation. ("Introduction")

The wine is one of those big, noble wines that Brandon favours, and Chapuys drinks appreciatively and says I don't understand it, nothing do I understand in this benighted country. Is Cranmer Pope now? Or is Henry Pope? Perhaps you are Pope? My men who were among the press today say they heard few voices raised for the concubine, and plenty who called upon God to bless Katherine, the rightful queen. Did they? I don't know what city they were in. Chapuys sniffs: they may well wonder. These days it is nothing but Frenchmen about the king, and she, Boleyn, she is half-French herself, and wholly bought by them; her entire family are in the pocket of Francis. But you, Thomas, you are not taken in by these Frenchmen, are you? He reassures him: my dear friend, not for one instant. Chapuys weeps; it's unlike him: all credit to the noble wine. 'I have failed my master the Emperor. I have failed Katherine.' 'Never mind.' He thinks, tomorrow is another battle, tomorrow is another world.

Maybe it takes life being undeniably terrible before we can truly recognize its undeniable splendor. Suffering

The space between what you want and what

Scripture

we are all disabled. None of us have unlimited access to whatever we want or whatever we planned for our lives to look like.

We believe that God intentionally puts people in our paths who will cause an immediate and tangible impact, shifting the trajectories of our lives forever.

restored to the lodge, storm over, the watch on your wrist, your friends with you, all safe and sound. It won’t happen. But that is the prize. In the meantime, I can be generous. You may have one minute to talk to your friends. Say goodbye and all. Convince them not to help you, lest they be trapped there with you. Then—let the game begin.” His smile was wide and joyous, the way a wolf grins, pouncing. With a neat dramatic gesture, he fastened Ollie’s watch to his own wrist. “May the best of us win.

We could change the whole world!

fact, when we open our hands, God, like the most perfect parent who’s read all the books and done all the deep breathing exercises ever known, whispers to us gently, “But there is MORE.

We took the elevator up to this different part of the hospital.

truest story about our identity: “You are worthy not because you achieved or put on the worthiest performance, but because you are worth everything to Me.

The leaders of wolf packs may be the most aggressive and dominant, but the leaders of dog packs are invariably the dogs with the most friends.

Wherever we want to denote the hunger of the cold season, we turn to wolves. They are the enemy we love to hate, the feral intelligence we most fear. Their morality is mutable. They do what they have to do. In the wolf, we are offered a mirror of ourselves as we might be, without the comforts and constraints of civilisation.

Here's how I figure puppy eyes got their start. Cave humans were sitting around a fire, wearing mammoth fur and grunting about how there was nothing on TV because TV hadn't been invented yet, and some wily wolf thought, Whoa, they've got leftover mammoth meat! And he probably whimpered and cowered and did a tummy display and looked pathetic enough that Mr. Oog finally tossed him a bone. And soon enough, a few zillion years later: voila! Man's best friend.

Pain has been an instructor, teaching me deeper truths about myself and God and bringing me closer to Christ in a way I never was before this happened.

a real wolf runs in the way that a thunderstorm would run if it had legs.

FAITH is an acronym for “Forsaking All, I Trust Him.

I have come to realize that believing in God is not possible without also believing God. He says He is my hope and strength, and I am taking Him at His word.

There is something profound about hope, something so meaningful when you cling to what is beyond anything you know and understand. When that happens deep in your head and in your heart, something shifts. Hope heals.

We all walk through this life on the edge of a blade, and yet we rarely allow ourselves to feel the weight of our potential losses or the grace of our potential gains.

if we pray for patience, God doesn’t just give us patience; rather, He gives us opportunities to be patient. If we pray for courage, He gives us opportunities to be courageous.

When we share our stories in real and messy ways, we give people permission to do the same, and in the sharing, we release some of the things that keep us trapped in our own isolated hotel rooms. We remember we are not alone. And that brings hope.

Trust Me. I am working out EVERYTHING for your good. Don’t doubt this truth just because you are in darkness now. What’s true in the light is true in the dark.

You will see My goodness in the land of the living. Lean into this hope. Let it teach you how special you are. Most people will never go through this kind of hell on earth. I have chosen you. Live a life worthy of this special calling you have received.

We began to recognize in our own hearts places where we were actually expecting more out of life and of recovery—better outcomes–than we were expecting out of God. As we intentionally and prayerfully offered up our fears, our purpose began to clarify. No matter what deaths, big or little, we would encounter in the year ahead, we felt empowered to live fully into this fragile existence with a newfound freedom, knowing that God would give us life in ways we could have never asked for or imagined.

Would we still be able to thank God for what He had given, for what He had allowed to be taken away, and for what He had allowed to remain?

I considered the reality that sometimes suffering comes because of the decisions we make; sometimes it comes as a way for God to gauge His place in our hearts; and sometimes it comes simply as a by-product of living in a world that is in a state of falling apart. Yet no matter the origin of the suffering, God’s presence remains the same. He finds us in our hurts, if we want to be found. His power to filter the worst that life has to offer, with goodness remaining, is our great hope.

One of the soldiers had an underbite he could have picked his own nose with.

But fear is for cowards,’ Feo had said. ‘No, Feo! Cowardice is for cowards. Fear is for people with brains and eyes and functioning nerve endings.

They burnt my shoes and my books. I tried to stop them: the books, especially. I know they don’t like you reading Marx, but I hadn’t finished it. I’ve been told the ending’s the best bit. It’s inhuman to take your books away before you know the end.

had allowed us to experience. As Katherine recovered and we settled into a new life, we were finding hope in who God is and who He would be in the midst of our pain. Yet this moment revealed the invisible fine print I had tacked on to our “agreement” with God moving forward. It read something like this: Due to the extreme nature of our suffering, especially at such a young age, the quota on suffering in our lives has been met, and no further suffering will be required.

we settled into a new life, we were finding hope in who God is and who He would be in the midst of our pain. Yet this moment revealed the invisible fine print I had tacked on to our “agreement” with God moving forward. It read something like this: Due to the extreme nature of our suffering, especially at such a young age, the quota on suffering in our lives has been met, and no further suffering will be required.

God had never promised us an end to our struggles—not on this earth. As much as we longed for an end to the pain, as much as we wanted to cling to some artificial agreement that would give us a pass or a privilege because of all we had endured, we knew to do so was not only fruitless but missed the point. Did we want what He gives or did we want Him? Did we want the deliverance from the hurt or did we want the Deliverer of hope?

There was no singular moment when I decided to stay in my marriage. It was more the accumulation of each day’s choice to stay, of each day’s intention to find awe and empathy and love

C. S. Lewis had it right: “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly be broken.

Don’t quote some Bible verse out of context, just because you don’t know what else to say. Don’t slap a Jesus sticker on someone’s devastated life; they’ll need more of Jesus than just a sticker. Instead, lead with a ministry of tears before offering a ministry of truth.

me? Of course. But an earthly body is a mere tent, and there is a purpose behind what happened. I had once heard that if we pray for patience, God doesn’t just give us patience; rather, He gives us opportunities to be patient. If we pray for courage, He gives us opportunities to be courageous.

Finn let out a low whistle. “You’re mated to one of the kitty cats? I would’ve sworn you’d find some submissive little thing or a mean motherfucker of a wolf. Never in a million years could I see you with a slick-talking feline like him.

Sierra clenched her jaw for a moment before responding. “We’re grabbing food. That in no way constitutes a date. Invite whoever you want to join, see if I give a damn.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared,” he drawled, leaning against one of the pillars. “Consider me flattered, Kanoska.

Well, Dax had wanted distraction, but he didn’t think meeting the infamous Tribe with a raging hard-on could be considered putting his best foot forward.

Sierra’s eyes flashed amber, the familiar color of her wolf, one his own had responded to all these years. “Don’t discredit yourself, Kelly,” she said, cuffing his shoulder. “No one happens to call me on my shit like you do. However, I also know I can’t keep you here. I’ve been so wrapped up in Dax and the changes to the pack I overlooked one of the most important members.

Help, help, I’m being kidnapped,” Navi murmured in a dry tone. She reached up to flick her fingers against his abs. His brows wrinkled at the feeble attempt. “Oh well,” she continued, unable to hide the hint of a grin on her lips. “Didn’t work. I suppose I’ll resign myself to my horrible fate.

The more you stop yourself from being used, the less you broadcast yourself as a victim. Like a wolf who stalks the weak elk in the herd, exploiters will pass you over if you seem strong and feisty. By learning to protect yourself, you lessen the incidences of being threatened.

He sure isn’t looking at you like a friend. Let me put it this way. If you were a rabbit and he were a wolf, you’d be dead meat right now. Lord, I wish a guy would look at me that way.

Once upon a time, a hundred years ago, there was a dark and stormy girl.

Human suffering takes so many forms, and it can be tempting to rank what’s worthy of being deemed “real” suffering. But aren’t we all struggling to live with realities we would not choose? Suffering in its simplest form comes in the space between what we thought would be and what is.

Our humanity places each of us on this spectrum of pains, and the great irony is that we often isolate ourselves by saying, “My pain is so big, no one understands,” or conversely, “My pain is so insignificant, no one would care.

Life defines us, but suffering redefines us. Ultimately, hope refines us, transforming us from within in ways we never could have imagined.

The real work, the hardest work, is to pick up the pieces and decide how to put them back together again. The new thing that emerges may not work the way it used to, but it can bend and stretch and change us in ways we come to treasure even more.