Sheep In Wolf's Clothing Quotes

I can’t believe I didn’t see him for what he was from the beginning: a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And now I’m the sheep pretending to be a wolf.

You should never trust a wolf in sheep's clothing. Because the only thing the wolf will ever want to do is break you.

Julian: What's black inside, white outside, and hot? Jenny: What? Julian: A wolf in sheep's clothing. Jenny: Is that what you are? Julian: Me? No, I'm a wolf in wolf's clothing.

Today the devil as a wolf in supposedly a new suit of sheep’s clothing is enticing some men to parrot his line by advocating planned government guaranteed security at the expense of our liberties.

I called you a coward! You're a fucking sheep in wolf's clothing

You have no idea how deep the level of my depravity is right now.” He chuckled. “Are you subtly telling me you’re the wolf in sheep’s clothing?” “There’s no subtle about it. I’m flat out telling you.” His eyes roamed over me hungrily, and I knew he was being serious. For whatever reason, I wasn’t scared. I felt safe with him.

I know people might think I'm strong or tough, but I'm really not. I'm a sheep in wolf's clothing.

What is this?" she asked, running her hand over the jacket. "Sheepskin." She looked at him with genuine amusement. "So when you wear this, you're literally a wolf in sheep's clothing?

Now you've done it. I'm about to emote all over you.

The social prestige of wine at table and at the club must be destroyed through lofty example and polite ridicule; forces which are not always available, and for whose successful operation much time will be required. But the outstanding fact remains, that the world has come to regard liquor in a new and clearer light. Our next generation of poets will contain but few Anacreons, for the thinking element of mankind has robbed the flowing bowl of its fancied virtues and fictitious beauties. The grape, so long permitted to masquerade as the inspirer of wit and art, is now revealed as the mother of ruin and death. The wolf at last stands divested of its sheep’s clothing.

That's who he wanted to be at his core. Not alpha, or survivor, or mate, overdramatic, anxious, cantankerous grump. Not even husband, really. Those were all facets, badges. At his core, he wanted to be his own wildest dreams.

Please. Don’t try and play games with me. It’s belittling. I’m not stupid — I can spot a wolf in sheep’s clothing when I see one - and your claws are showing.” -Enoch Michelson

If you only ever make a change when you’re unhappy, you’ll always be in the position of running away from something, never running toward it.

It is not the New Inquisition which is our enemy today; it is hereditary Privilege. It is not Superstition, but Big Business which makes use of Superstition as a wolf makes use of sheep's clothing.

Maybe you'll change Abandon all your wicked ways Make amends and start anew again Maybe you'll see All the wrongs you did to me And start all over, start all over again. Who am i kidding? Now, lets not get overzealous here Youre always been a huge piece of shit If i could kill you i would But it's frowned upon in all fifty states Having said that, burn in Hell.

There are strange movements rising now, not only across the world, but right here in the U.S. of A. You can see it on the internet. Boys dressing as girls to seem more powerful. Girls dressing as boys to shake off the meaning of the power, or to leap on the unsuspecting, wolf in sheep’s clothing.

She might dress like them, but she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She simply did not belong.

Riches and abundance come hypocritically clad in sheep's clothing, pretending to be security against anxieties, and they become then the object of anxiety. They secure a man against anxieties just about as well as the wolf that is put to tending the sheep.

A sheep in wolf’s clothing should not bleat within the pack.

The Nice Guy is not a nice guy, he's not kind, respectful or honest. He's a chameleon. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing.

This world is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and the people in it would rather you be miserable as long as they’re comfortable. Why not carve out our own piece and be free to love how we choose?

... You tricked me,” cried the Little Blue Wolf. “You tricked me and now you have stolen my tail! Without it I can never go home.” The Monster in the Mountain laughed. “Silly little wolf. Did you really think you could sleep in the mouth of a monster and not get bit?” —Excerpt from a North American werewolf fable. Date and author unknown.

Dialogue is a wolf in sheep’s clothing—often pretending to be woolly and vague, actually all teeth and meaning. Even

I can spot a wolf in sheep’s clothing when I see one – and your claws are showing. ​— ​Enoch Michelson

One may howl with the wolves, if need be, but when doing so, one should be, I would urge, a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Snow is not a wolf in sheep's clothing - it is a tiger in lamb's clothing.

Behind every wolf in sheep's clothing is a trail of dead sheep - rjs

Those of you who agree with me, raise your hands... on those who don't!

Mirror mirror on the wall who is the deceptor amongst us all".

A wolf wearing sheep’s clothing to fit in is still a wolf; just a surprisingly stupid-looking one.

You know the wolf in sheep’s clothing? He is the enticing offer to sell out. But selling out is not success; it is defeat in disguise. Do not be fooled by that hungry wolf.

A wolf in sheep's clothing really does exist. There are people that will charm you. Trust with boundaries, determine what you will do if someone does not honor your boundary.

The closer art reflects reality, the less artistic it becomes. Art is most enticing when it mimics life as a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing. The contrary is always a grave disappointment.

If he was able to fool me, if he was able, even for a few seconds, to make me forget what I knew about him, how would I ever be able to convince people that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

Kill the fucking Nice Guy in you. Seriously, bury all relation you have to that guy. The Nice Guy is not a nice guy, he's not kind, respectful or honest. He's a chameleon. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Nasty Gal is now big enough for me to be able to hire people who are experts in their respective fields. But don't be fooled: I'm still calling the shots. I hate it when I'm in a meeting with one of our top officers and someone addresses her the entire time, assuming that the "adult" in the room must be the one making decisions. Don't you dare think that my shredded T-shirt makes me a sheep in wolf's clothing. I, like every #GIRLBOSS, am a wolf in wolf's clothing.

Plainly put, the imperative to “be professional” is the imperative to be whiter, straighter, wealthier, and more masculine. A wolf in sheep’s clothing masquerading as a neutral term, professionalism hangs over the head of anyone who’s different, who deviates from the hegemony of white men.

My lady," Sebastian murmured, resting one hand at the small of her corseted back. Regarding Haldane with a slight smile, he continued to speak to Evie. "It seems I'll have to warn you, my love... this gentleman is a wolf in sheep's clothing." Although Evie would have expected the elderly man to take offense at such a remark, Haldane chuckled with pleasure, his vanity flattered. "If I were twenty years younger, my impudent fellow, I would steal her away from you. Despite your much-vaunted charm, you are no match for what I was then." "Age hasn't tamed you a whit," Sebastian replied with a grin, drawing Evie away from him. "Pardon us, my lord, while I remove my wife from safer territory." "It is obvious that this elusive fellow has been caught firmly in your snare," Haldane told Evie. "Go, then, and pacify his jealous temperament." "I... I will try," Evie said uncertainly. For some reason both men laughed, and Sebastian kept his hand on Evie's back as they left the main room.

Traces of historical associations can long outlast actual contact. In the dense, subtropical forests from India across to the South China Sea, venomous snakes are common, and there is always an advantage in pretending to be something dangerous. The slow loris, a weird, nocturnal primate, has a number of unusual features that, taken together, seem to be mimicking spectacled cobras. They move in a sinuous, serpentine way through the branches, always smooth and slow. When threatened, they raise their arms up behind their head, shiver and hiss, their wide, round eyes closely resembling the markings on the inside of the spectacled cobra’s hood. Even more remarkably, when in this position, the loris has access to glands in its armpit which, when combined with saliva, can produce a venom capable of causing anaphylactic shock in humans. In behaviour, colour and even bite, the primate has come to resemble the snake, a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Today, the ranges of the loris and cobras do not overlap, but climate reconstructions reaching back tens of thousands of years suggest that once they would have been similar. It is possible that the loris is an outdated imitation artist, stuck in an evolutionary rut, compelled by instinct to act out an impression of something neither it nor its audience has ever seen.

I kiss her lips, now fully aware that love is the darkest of all creatures. For what is crueler than a possession you have no control over? What is more sinister than a craving you will never fill? It is an emotion without death, a sheep in wolf’s clothing, and if that’s not the most sadistic human emotion, I don’t know what is.

Barry Schwartz points out in his book, The Paradox of Choice, that this kind of sheep-in-wolf’s-clothing decision is more likely to come up the more options you have to choose from. The greater the number of available options, the greater the likelihood that more than one of those options will look pretty good to you. The more options that look pretty good to you, the more time you spend in analysis paralysis. That’s the paradox: more choice, more anxiety. Remember, if the only choices are between Paris and a trout cannery, no one has a problem. But what if the choices are Paris or Rome or Amsterdam or Santorini or Machu Picchu? You get the picture. THE ONLY-OPTION TEST For any options you’re considering, ask yourself, “If this were the only option I had, would I be happy with it?” A useful tool you can use to break the gridlock is the Only-Option Test. If this were the only thing I could order on the menu . . . If this were the only show I could watch on Netflix tonight . . . If this were the only place I could go for vacation . . . If this were the only college I got accepted to . . . If this were the only house I could buy . . . If this were the only job I got offered . . . The Only-Option Test clears away the debris cluttering your decision. If you’d be happy if Paris were your only option, and you’d be happy if Rome were your only option, that reveals that if you just flip a coin, you’ll be happy whichever way the coin lands.

The hit-woman opened the door. No dead body on the floor. Thank God. I heard an unearthly roar and then Jordan charged Liz from where she’d been hiding beside the door. She tackled her to the floor and stabbed her through the wrist with a small switchblade. The hit-woman shrieked and let go of the gun, allowing Jordan precious seconds to bat it across the room. She landed a couple hard punches to the assassin’s nose, bloodying it, before the other woman got the upper hand. She grabbed a handful of Jordan’s ponytail and slammed her head into the edge of the coffee table. Jordan cried out, but didn’t let go of the knife. She withdrew it and held it against the assassin’s throat, shouting, “Move again and I’ll kill you, puta!” Liz panted madly, but stayed put. Jordan glanced up at me. “You okay?” “Alive,” I said through a grimace. “Not okay.” “Good enough.” She returned her gaze to the woman pinned beneath her and glared. “The police are on their way. And not the nice, human police. Angels. Get any ideas about trying to kill me again and you won’t even get to deal with them.” “I’ve been in jail before,” Liz said, attempting to recapture her former arrogance. “I’ll get over it.” Jordan leaned down a few inches, lowering her voice. “Really? How’d you like to return without your tongue?” Liz’s eyes went wide, as did mine. “You wouldn’t dare.” “You shot my best friend. Multiple times. Lex talionis.” “You can’t kill me. You’re not a policewoman. You’re just a girl.” “No. I’m a Seer. You and the rest of your friends had better learn the difference between a sheep and a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Until then…” She lifted her fist and punched Liz hard in the temple. The assassin went out like a light. “Vaya con dios, bitch.

Looking at her with a wolf’s gaze, with a hunger satiated only by violence and destruction, he pulled back only slightly with the sight of blood trickling from her nose. When she smiled at him, her teeth stained red, her tongue running over her gums, however, Blossom’s entire body juxtaposed the idea between sweet and innocent to malicious and coarse. She was as sharp as a blade, yet as sweet as a flowering bruise. And his affection for her was as equally a perfect mixture—balance—between the desire to destroy her, tear her limb from limb, devour her, and protect, nurture, save her from all the evil in the world, including himself. But what he didn’t realize, as she batted her lashes back up at him, her body molding under his fingertips so easily he for a minute was convinced she had been created for the sole purpose of him, was that she was a wolf, too. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, a false prey. A predator of equal conviction.

~ The Foolish Fool ~ I can tell the world I am Good, I can wear religious clothing show the world I am Good, I can pray 5 times prayers to convince people in the world I am Good, I can perform pilgrimage to holy places to be known by others I am Good, I can feed the poor to feed my ego and feel I am Good, I can hide my own sin call, people, sinners behind and become delusional that I am Good, I can wear a sheep mask being a wolf expecting the Shepard to consider that I am Good, I can fool the whole world to believe in me I am Good, But in reality, I fooled myself by proving to people, not God that I am Good.

I can tell the world I am Good, I can wear religious clothing show the world I am Good, I can pray 5 times prayers to convince people in the world I am Good, I can perform pilgrimage to holy places to be known by others I am Good, I can feed the poor to feed my ego and feel I am Good, I can hide my own sin call, people, sinners behind and become delusional that I am Good, I can wear a sheep mask being a wolf expecting the Shepard to consider that I am Good, I can present papers of lineage and family tree to attract people that I am Good, I can fool the whole world to believe in me I am Good, But in reality, I fooled myself by proving to people, not God that I am Good.

Darwin’s Bestiary PROLOGUE Animals tame and animals feral prowled the Dark Ages in search of a moral: the canine was Loyal, the lion was Virile, rabbits were Potent and gryphons were Sterile. Sloth, Envy, Gluttony, Pride—every peril was fleshed into something phantasmic and rural, while Courage, Devotion, Thrift—every bright laurel crowned a creature in some mythological mural. Scientists think there is something immoral in singular brutes having meat that is plural: beasts are mere beasts, just as flowers are floral. Yet between the lines there’s an implicit demurral; the habit stays with us, albeit it’s puerile: when Darwin saw squirrels, he saw more than Squirrel. 1. THE ANT The ant, Darwin reminded us, defies all simple-mindedness: Take nothing (says the ant) on faith, and never trust a simple truth. The PR men of bestiaries eulogized for centuries this busy little paragon, nature’s proletarian— but look here, Darwin said: some ants make slaves of smaller ants, and end exploiting in their peonages the sweating brows of their tiny drudges. Thus the ant speaks out of both sides of its mealy little mouth: its example is extolled to the workers of the world, but its habits also preach the virtues of the idle rich. 2. THE WORM Eyeless in Gaza, earless in Britain, lower than a rattlesnake’s belly-button, deaf as a judge and dumb as an audit: nobody gave the worm much credit till Darwin looked a little closer at this spaghetti-torsoed loser. Look, he said, a worm can feel and taste and touch and learn and smell; and ounce for ounce, they’re tough as wrestlers, and love can turn them into hustlers, and as to work, their labors are mythic, small devotees of the Protestant Ethic: they’ll go anywhere, to mountains or grassland, south to the rain forests, north to Iceland, fifty thousand to every acre guzzling earth like a drunk on liquor, churning the soil and making it fertile, earning the thanks of every mortal: proud Homo sapiens, with legs and arms— his whole existence depends on worms. So, History, no longer let the worm’s be an ignoble lot unwept, unhonored, and unsung. Moral: even a worm can turn. 3. THE RABBIT a. Except in distress, the rabbit is silent, but social as teacups: no hare is an island. (Moral: silence is golden—or anyway harmless; rabbits may run, but never for Congress.) b. When a rabbit gets miffed, he bounds in an orbit, kicking and scratching like—well, like a rabbit. (Moral: to thine own self be true—or as true as you can; a wolf in sheep’s clothing fleeces his skin.) c. He populates prairies and mountains and moors, but in Sweden the rabbit can’t live out of doors. (Moral: to know your own strength, take a tug at your shackles; to understand purity, ponder your freckles.) d. Survival developed these small furry tutors; the morals of rabbits outnumber their litters. (Conclusion: you needn’t be brainy, benign, or bizarre to be thought a great prophet. Endure. Just endure.) 4. THE GOSSAMER Sixty miles from land the gentle trades that silk the Yankee clippers to Cathay sift a million gossamers, like tides of fluff above the menace of the sea. These tiny spiders spin their bits of webbing and ride the air as schooners ride the ocean; the Beagle trapped a thousand in its rigging, small aeronauts on some elusive mission. The Megatherium, done to extinction by its own bigness, makes a counterpoint to gossamers, who breathe us this small lesson: for survival, it’s the little things that count.

In 1995, the gray wolf was reintroduced to Yellowstone National Park after a seventy-year hiatus. Scientists expected an ecological ripple effect, but the size and scope of the trophic cascade took them by surprise.7 Wolves are predators that kill certain species of animals, but they indirectly give life to others. When the wolves reentered the ecological equation, it radically changed the behavioral patterns of other wildlife. As the wolves began killing coyotes, the rabbit and mouse populations increased, thereby attracting more hawks, weasels, foxes, and badgers. In the absence of predators, deer had overpopulated the park and overgrazed parts of Yellowstone. Their new traffic patterns, however, allowed the flora and fauna to regenerate. The berries on those regenerated shrubs caused a spike in the bear population. In six years’ time, the trees in overgrazed parts of the park had quintupled in height. Bare valleys were reforested with aspen, willow, and cottonwood trees. And as soon as that happened, songbirds started nesting in the trees. Then beavers started chewing them down. Beavers are ecosystem engineers, building dams that create natural habitats for otters, muskrats, and ducks, as well as fish, reptiles, and amphibians. One last ripple effect. The wolves even changed the behavior of rivers—they meandered less because of less soil erosion. The channels narrowed and pools formed as the regenerated forests stabilized the riverbanks. My point? We need wolves! When you take the wolf out of the equation, there are unintended consequences. In the absence of danger, a sheep remains a sheep. And the same is true of men. The way we play the man is by overcoming overwhelming obstacles, by meeting daunting challenges. We may fear the wolf, but we also crave it. It’s what we want. It’s what we need. Picture a cage fight between a sheep and a wolf. The sheep doesn’t stand a chance, right? Unless there is a Shepherd. And I wonder if that’s why we play it safe instead of playing the man—we don’t trust the Shepherd. Playing the man starts there! Ecologists recently coined a wonderful new word. Invented in 2011, rewilding has a multiplicity of meanings. It’s resisting the urge to control nature. It’s the restoration of wilderness. It’s the reintroduction of animals back into their natural habitat. It’s an ecological term, but rewilding has spiritual implications. As I look at the Gospels, rewilding seems to be a subplot. The Pharisees were so civilized—too civilized. Their religion was nothing more than a stage play. They were wolves in sheep’s clothing.8 But Jesus taught a very different brand of spirituality. “Foxes have dens and birds have nests,” said Jesus, “but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”9 So Jesus spent the better part of three years camping, fishing, and hiking with His disciples. It seems to me Jesus was rewilding them. Jesus didn’t just teach them how to be fishers of men. Jesus taught them how to play the man! That was my goal with the Year of Discipleship,

One of the characters was trying to define what love means, and I always liked his definition. He said that love was the condition that exists whenever another person's happiness and well-being is necessary for your own happiness and well-being.” He chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds. “I don't have a clue what it feels like to be in love, but if we look at that definition and accept it, then I guess we can say that I love you. I like it when you smile, I like it when you laugh—I don't like it when you're hurt or unhappy. It seems to me that your happiness and well-being are essential to whatever equivalent of those I might have, so that fits.

Wolf in sheep's clothing, maybe not, but he was undoubtedly Satan, tempting her to the dark side. Forgive me, Father, for I want nothing more than to sin and sin and sin again…

A regular sheep would rather choose a wolf in a sheep's clothing over sheep that tells the truth. A lie suits better one's self-deceit.

It’s the wolf in sheep’s clothing metaphor. Like a man I know who portrays himself to be a godly, bible-believing, married man, who leaves that church every Sunday, holding his wife’s hand, knowing that the night before they’d been to a nightclub where they watched other couples having sex on stage. Or the man who prays before every meal, but uses every profane word known to man when disciplining (demeaning) his children. “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” Well, does it say anything in there about the words you use? Or, like another man I know who blathers on about the Bible, going to church, and often quotes scripture on social media. Yet, I know the truth. He has made sexual advances toward several women whom I also know, some of them recently, yet he continues pretending to be a good Christian man who goes to church with his wife and kids. And, should someone tell his wife? Maybe. But no one tells her. We all just sit back and silently watch as she blindly and happily lives a lie–with a wolf.

Liam was a wolf in sheep's clothing, hiding his sharp teeth away until the right moment. He was the predator, sinking down low in the grass, waiting for his prey to feel safe and turn around.

When the mask drops, the person you thought he was disappears.  He will look quite different, and any illusion of normalcy will be gone. You will immediately “know” that he is predator, and nothing more than that. He may also come across as blatantly lecherous. You will experience what it is to be prey. The moment you realize he is a predator, you’ll know that everything else – everything else—was merely window dressing, smoke and mirrors, fluff.  That was the sheep’s clothing, and this is the wolf beneath. If you're lucky he puts the mask back on, along with the charm that comes with it. But you will never be the same.

Beware of the charismatic wolf in sheep's clothing. There is evil in the world. You can be tricked.

So to walk even as he walked." 1 John 2:6 Why should Christians imitate Christ? They should do it for their own sakes. If they desire to be in a healthy state of soul--if they would escape the sickness of sin, and enjoy the vigour of growing grace, let Jesus be their model. For their own happiness' sake, if they would drink wine on the lees, well refined; if they would enjoy holy and happy communion with Jesus; if they would be lifted up above the cares and troubles of this world, let them walk even as he walked. There is nothing which can so assist you to walk towards heaven with good speed, as wearing the image of Jesus on your heart to rule all its motions. It is when, by the power of the Holy Spirit, you are enabled to walk with Jesus in his very footsteps, that you are most happy, and most known to be the sons of God. Peter afar off is both unsafe and uneasy. Next, for religion's sake, strive to be like Jesus. Ah! poor religion, thou hast been sorely shot at by cruel foes, but thou hast not been wounded one-half so dangerously by thy foes as by thy friends. Who made those wounds in the fair hand of Godliness? The professor who used the dagger of hypocrisy. The man who with pretences, enters the fold, being nought but a wolf in sheep's clothing, worries the flock more than the lion outside. There is no weapon half so deadly as a Judas-kiss. Inconsistent professors injure the gospel more than the sneering critic or the infidel. But, especially for Christ's own sake, imitate his example. Christian, lovest thou thy Saviour? Is his name precious to thee? Is his cause dear to thee? Wouldst thou see the kingdoms of the world become his? Is it thy desire that he should be glorified? Art thou longing that souls should be won to him? If so,

The assimilation of taboo images to the everyday language of doing business produces a strange effect. It domesticates the taboo while at the same time making the everyday transactional world more porous, more open to the forbidden. The wolf of unbridled appetite slips into everyday convention in the sheep's clothing of commercial language.

To a real elephant, and not a sheep, wolf, or gnu in elephant’s clothing, you are not there. There is no You. There is no Is. There is only the Elephant. Don’t you see how silly that

An accountant is always going to be an accountant, but a bad boy, now there's a challenge. If you love him enough, you might make him good. And this dangerous myth keeps its credence because some bad boys do turn good, after all. The problem is, no-one notices that the ones who change were just good boys pretending to be bad. They don't change, they revert. The leopard, he don't change his spots, but the sheep in in wolf's clothing, he can put on a new jacket and everyone goes all misty-eyed and talks about what love can do.

That sister of yours needs to own up to the fact that Richard was a cheat. She knew it and married him anyway. Can’t spend her life blaming the sheep when she watched her wolf get clothed every day.

he still emanated power and dominance; a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Kierkegaard writes, “…riches and abundance come hypocritically clad in sheep’s clothing pretending to be security against anxieties and they become then the object of anxiety…they secure a man against anxieties just about as well as the wolf which is put to tending the sheep secures them…against the wolf.

Riches and abundance come hypocritically clad in sheep’s clothing, pretending to be security against anxieties, and they become then the object of anxiety. They secure a man against anxieties just about as well as the wolf that is put to tending the sheep.

A husband who is cold-hearted towards his wife and children is like a wolf in sheep's clothing, masquerading as a loving partner and father but actually intent on devouring their joy, hope, and future. His actions are a manifestation of evil, seeking to destroy the very ones he vowed to love and protect. Such a man is a destroyer of lives, and his legacy is one of pain and regret, a sheer contrast to the love and nurturing that God intends for families to experience.

Because that was a thing men often didn’t realise—when a woman was truly at ease, most of the time she’ll be much more responsive to anything else on his mind. Our sex drives were choked by worries, responsibilities, and pressures of life grinding us down, which was why the stereotype of a woman thinking about her shopping list while having sex existed. It wasn’t that we didn’t want to be present and experience the throes of ecstasy with someone we cared about. It was that we found it hard to surrender to that while all this menial shit buzzed around insistently in our heads.

Children, and most especially girls--- pretty ones, sheltered from the world--- should never talk to unknown men, who likely want to gobble them, For there are wolves with pelts of hair, whose huge teeth serve to say beware, but also wolves who seem quite sweet, when wooing women in the street with flattery and playful charm. It's very hard to see the harm till they devour you, blood and bone. Perhaps you keep one in your home? My moral is a warning too: that smooth-tongued wolf will ruin you.

If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to put everything up on the high shelves again and take away all the step ladders, you rabid little troll doll,

If he stops Arnold, it would be for the good of the people of Boston. Arnold was a wolf in sheep’s clothing and needed to be exposed for who he

But that’s the brilliance of a sociopath—they can always make you forget they’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Some evil Men uses their charm as a trap, enticing women with empty promises, sweet words a disguise for their true intentions: to exploit and drain them of their resources. A wolf in sheep's clothing, they prey on vulnerable hearts, leaving a trail of shattered dreams and financial ruin in their wake.

There was something about the dark-haired girls, no matter how sweet they painted themselves out to be, they always tended to dive headfirst into oblivion when presented with the opportunity. As if the call of the void was simply too loud to ignore, too magnetizing to not plunge deep inside of the madness and claim it for their own. Romina wore sheep's clothing, but there was a wolf inside her too. She just didn't know it yet.

But relationships were complicated, especially those with the people who raised you. The pain of loss wasn’t always about missing the person themself. Sometimes it was the free-fall shock when you stumbled into the bottomless blank space that they’d always filled before.

Control, he knew, wasn’t an actual thing that you had. It was more like an outfit, something you put on. A disguise for other people to see. As long as you acted as if you were in control, you were in control. They said a wolf in sheep’s clothing as if it was a bad thing. But wasn’t it what everyone wanted? For you to be one of the sheep?

If he was able to fool me, if he was able even for a few seconds, to make me forget what I knew about him, how would I ever be able to convince people that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing?

Discernment is the ability to see people for who they really are. It’s discerning safety from harm. When you have discernment, you can identify who is a sheep, who is a wolf, and even who is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Triaminotrinitrobenzene

Most anyone can spot a wolf among sheep. It’s much harder to spot the wolf in sheep’s clothing, and yet that is our command (Matthew 7:15).

To the sheep, the sheepdog looks like a wolf. They have fangs and a tendency to be violent, like the wolf. In many ways, the sheepdog and the wolf are cut from the same cloth. They have one significant difference, though: The sheepdog loves the sheep and could never use its gift of strength and violence against them.

People will come in the name of friendship, but not all should have a say about your future plans. Most of the people you call friends are wolfs in sheep clothing, they are destiny hunters.

Benno recalled how Lucy had sighed when Tom had said—well, Benno couldn’t actually remember what he had said, that’s how incredibly not funny his comment was, but he remembered clearly how she gazed admiringly at the person Benno now realized was a snake in the grass, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a— “Hey, Benno!” He looked up to see Tom, the person he now hated more than anyone in the world, waving cheerfully at him from the sidelines. Benno picked up the ball and trotted over, trying to look casual and elegant, like the best players on the Italian national team. This effect was ruined when he stepped on a small rut in the field, tripped, and dropped the ball. “Ciao, Tom,” he called out. “Come stai?” As usual, Tom was flummoxed by this most basic Italian greeting. Benno imagined that he could actually hear the wheels in Tom’s brain turning as he tried to remember the correct response.

Consciousness is the greatest mystery of science. Scientists know that consciousness has something to do with the brain, but scientists do not know how this brain produces consciousness. Scientists call consciousness the “hard problem.” In spite of all this, progressively more individuals assert that knowledge about reality comes solely from science. It is a belief system in materialist science that is spreading across the world. Scientism does not realize it is, in reality, a religion. In brief, this new belief system is what is known as Scientism. Scientism is nothing less than a wolf in sheep’s clothing. It is the Demiurge masquerading as reasonable academic inquiry.

November makes me anxious. This year’s holidays are approaching with a particularly lean and nervous look, like coyotes dressed as reindeer and ready for a tussle. Nothing feels right.

somewhere isolated.

think he understands that you wouldn't do that

googling

Good grief,” Sarah said to him, “how are you not diabetic?” “It’s because I burn the calories up so fast,” Moose answered. “My body never has time to realize I’ve eaten anything.

A mild mannered accountant are y’? I’d say you’re more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I’m fully her stalker in this moment. I’m the wolf in sheep’s clothing. I’m the man who steals hair from her hairbrush and licks the rim of her coffee mug before it goes in the dishwasher. I’m an obsessed felon who assaults men that try and speak to her. I am fucking insane.

There was something about the dark-haired girls, no matter how sweet they painted themselves out to be, they always tended to dive head first into oblivion when presented with the opportunity. As if the call of the void was simply too loud to ignore, too magnetizing to not plunge deep inside of the madness and claim it for their own. Romina wore sheeps clothing, but there was a wolf inside her too. She just didn't know it yet.