Sheep Wolf Quotes

Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?

It is useless for the sheep to pass resolutions in favor of vegetarianism, while the wolf remains of a different opinion.

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.

If a wolf attacks his sheep, the shepherd kills the wolf, but he eats the sheep when he's hungry.

The price of being a sheep is boredom. The price of being a wolf is loneliness. Choose one or the other with great care.

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

People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep.

It takes many sheep to satisfy one wolf.

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.

either you get eaten by a wolf today or else the shepherd saves you from the wolf so he can sell you to the butcher tomorrow

My poor mother begged for a sheep but raised a wolf.

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.

He now realized why wolves ran in packs—to more easily round up the large population of sheep and devour them. He also acknowledged that he could only climb the corporate ladder so high and so fast by solely using schemes. Joining a fierce and powerful pack was also essential.

I have wolf blood and wolf bones... Don't expect me to graze with sheep.

How was the wolf to blame, if the sheep were roaming free?

Why be the sheep when you can be the wolf?

[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 told you what I was when we began. I’m the black iris watered by poison. The wolf that raised its head among sheep and devoured its way, ruthless and bloody, to freedom. I never forgave, never forgot. I didn’t feel sorry. I felt bad. As in bad girl, not guilty. And feeling bad made me feel so fucking good.

Winnie, but I don’t believe in sin.” He smiled. It was a benevolent smile. Also unpleasant: sheep lips, wolf teeth. “That’s fine. But sin believes in you.

It's madness the sheep to talk peace with the wolf

The world has never had a good definition of the word liberty, and the American people, just now, are much in want of one. We all declare for liberty; but in using the same word we do not all mean the same thing. With some the word liberty may mean for each man to do as he pleases with himself, and the product of his labor; while with others the same word may mean for some men to do as they please with other men, and the product of other men’s labor. Here are two, not only different, but incompatible things, called by the same name, liberty. And it follows that each of the things is, by the respective parties, called by two different and incompatible names, liberty and tyranny. The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep’s throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as a liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act as the destroyer of liberty, especially as the sheep was a black one. Plainly the sheep and the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of the word liberty.

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.

Even if a tamed wolf makes a good sheepdog, he will never understand how the sheep feel....You are most fortunate. For having been, as you thought, a coward, and helpless to fight - you know what that is like. You know what bitterness that feeling breeds - you know in your own heart what kind of evil it brings. And so you are most fit to fight it where it occurs.

When a wolf is hungry it befriends sheep.

Sheep can befriend a hungry wolf only for briefly.

Wolves are not ruled by law. They are ruled by the alpha-wolf's policy. Individual wolves can do anything not prohibited by the alpha-wolf. They can do anything they can get away with doing. To the wolf - breaking sheep law or the alpha-wolf's policy only becomes serious if caught. Getting caught is everything.

Tyranny is the wolf cast by the shadows of sheep.

Do wolves concern themselves with the slaughter of sheep?

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

And even in the fever of epidemic arrests, when people leaving for work said farewell to their families every day, because they could not be certain they would return at night, even then almost no one tried to run away and only in rare cases did people commit suicide. And that was exactly what was required. A submissive sheep is a find for a wolf.

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.

Allow yourself to see the good in people. Not every sinister face harbors a wicked heart.

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?

A submissive sheep is a find for a wolf.

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

Only a sheep with lion's heart can attack wolf, not the sheep with lion's teeth or with lion's claw!

I was the black sheep, the sheep with teeth, the sheep even the wolf wouldn’t eat.

The most dangerous predator wasn’t the wolf disguised as a sheep. It was the wolf that believed they were a sheep. There was no limit to what they would do in the name of righteousness.                                                             FORTY-FIVE

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.

The grassland is a big life, but it's thinner than people's eyelids. If you rupture its grassy surface, you blind it, and dust storms are more lethal than the white-hair blizzards. If the grassland dies, so will the cows and sheep and horses, as well as the wolves and the people, all the little lives.

I've done this a thousand times before, watching the crowd like a wolf does a flock of sheep. Looking for the weak, the slow, the foolish. Only now, I am very much the prey.

He says that woman speaks with nature. That she hears voices from under the earth. That wind blows in her ears and trees whisper to her. That the dead sing through her mouth and the cries of infants are clear to her. But for him this dialogue is over. He says he is not part of this world, that he was set on this world as a stranger. He sets himself apart from woman and nature. And so it is Goldilocks who goes to the home of the three bears, Little Red Riding Hood who converses with the wolf, Dorothy who befriends a lion, Snow White who talks to the birds, Cinderella with mice as her allies, the Mermaid who is half fish, Thumbelina courted by a mole. (And when we hear in the Navaho chant of the mountain that a grown man sits and smokes with bears and follows directions given to him by squirrels, we are surprised. We had thought only little girls spoke with animals.) We are the bird's eggs. Bird's eggs, flowers, butterflies, rabbits, cows, sheep; we are caterpillars; we are leaves of ivy and sprigs of wallflower. We are women. We rise from the wave. We are gazelle and doe, elephant and whale, lilies and roses and peach, we are air, we are flame, we are oyster and pearl, we are girls. We are woman and nature. And he says he cannot hear us speak. But we hear.

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.

To protect the sheep you gotta catch the wolf, and it takes a wolf to catch a wolf.

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

A lone wolf sees the wisdom in guarding the sheep and hunting their predators.

All it takes to get elected in twenty-first-century America is a mob of frightened sheep and a wolf with a nice smile,

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

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

The flames of Aphrodite maddened me; I loathed myself, and yearned outrageously like a starved wolf to fall upon the sheep.

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

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.

To be born of chaos means to be born a lone wanderer in this world full of those who would gladly be food for a corrupted force. It means to walk alone amongst the blind, to be a lone wolf amongst sheep...that wishes to devour the 'Sheppard' who keeps all in line.

The fruit will reveal the tree soon enough. And it is likely better to be momentarily deceived by an occasional wolf than to be constantly and impetuously trying to jerk the wool off of every one of the Lord's sheep.

There are two types of people in the world. Only two. Sheep and wolves. Court was a wolf, and he knew it. The past few months had weakened him somewhat, but a wolf was always a wolf, and it had never been more evident to him than it was here at the bar, surrounded as he was by a hundred sheep.

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.

I sheep's idea of bravery : To become a wolf's pet.

In a world in which the personal is widely believed to be the political, the sheep of toleration soon turns into the wolf that demands acceptance, indeed, admiration.

How did you survive as a kid? It's like a sheep in the wolf's den." "I had books. Lots and lots of books.

yourself into a sheep, and you’ll meet a wolf nearby.

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

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.

Said the wolf pretending to be a sheep.

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.

I made a sudden decision. "and my dog has followed me from town and cought up with us here. I left him with friends, but he must have chewed his rope. here, boy, come to heel." I'll chew your heel off for you, Nighteyes offerd savagely, but he came, following me out into the cleared yard. "Damn big dog," Nick observed. He leaned forward. "looks more than half a wolf to me." "Some in Farrow have told me that. It's a buck breed. We use them for harding sheep." You will pay for this. I promise you. In answer I leaned down to pat his shoulder and then scratch his ears. Wag your tail, Nighteyes. "He's a loyal old dog. I should have known he wouldn't be left behind." The things i endure for you. He wagged his tail. Once.

Be careful of raising me too high, brother. I have no special strength, unless it is in choosing good men to follow me. The great lie of cities is that we are all too weak to stand against those who oppress us. All I have done is see through that lie. I always fight, Kachiun. Kings and shahs depend on people remaining sheep, too afraid to rise up. All I ever did was realize I can be a wolf to them.

Men have always hated the wolf." "Why?" said the boy indignantly, suddenly looking very unhappy indeed. "Maybe because they see something in the wolf that they hate and fear in themselves. Maybe because wolves take their sheep and goats, as if we shouldn't all share life's bounty.

Sitting across from me is my father, and as I look into his worn face it hits me, a truth so powerful I don’t know why I’ve never understood it before. The truth is this: that I am not a good daughter. I am a traitor, a wolf among sheep; there is something different about me and that difference is not good. I want to bellow, to weep into my father’s knees and promise never to do it again. But wolf that I am, I am still above lying, and anyway he would sniff the lie. We both know that if I ever again find Shawn on the highway, soaked in crimson, I will do exactly what I have just done. I am not sorry, merely ashamed.

It is,” answered Laura with almost violent agreement. “If you are a were-wolf, and very likely you may be, for lots of people are without knowing, February, of all months, is the month when you are most likely to go out on a dark windy night and worry sheep.

Media’s all about the gospel of the lone wolf, but the truth is we’re all just sheep.

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

Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.

For the white man to ask the black man if he hates him is just like the rapist asking the raped, or the wolf asking the sheep, ‘Do you hate me?

Sometimes, you just gotta be the weird one. It's always the weird one that stands out anyway, right? Nobody cares about the sheep; it's the wolf they're all after.

that I am not a good daughter. I am a traitor, a wolf among sheep; there is something different about me and that difference is not good.

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.

But there was something about me which made people hesitate. I was the black sheep, the sheep with teeth, the sheep even the wolf wouldn’t eat.

The wolf pounces on the sheep when the shepherd strays.

Below the surface of the most civilised human beings, the hunger-lust darts and snaps like a fish, snatches and rends like a bird, growls like a wolf, snarls like a panther, buzzes like a hornet, bleats like a sheep and stamps like a bull; and there is nothing so aggravating to hungry stomachs as the sight of dirty plates pushed away from satisfied rival stomachs.

Just what I predicted,” he smiled. “Run, little sheep. Run. For soon, the big bad wolf will have you right where you belong,” Crispin whispered as he manifested out of the school. ~Crispin~

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?

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.

The differences between a soldier, an artisan, a man of business, a lawyer, an idler, a student, a statesman, a merchant, a sailor, a poet, a beggar, a priest, are as great, though not so easy to define, as those between the wolf, the lion, the ass, the crow, the shark, the seal, the sheep, etc. Thus social species have always existed, and will always exist, just as there are zoological species.

Christ proclaimed: "I am the good shepherd." He then further showed, and with eloquent exactness, the difference between a shepherd and a hireling herder. The one has personal interest in and love for his flock, and knows each sheep by name, the other knows them only as a flock, the value of which is gaged by number; to the hireling they are only as so many or so much. While the shepherd is ready to fight in defense of his own, and if necessary even imperil his life for his sheep, the hireling flees when the wolf approaches, leaving the way open for the ravening beast to scatter, rend, and kill.

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.

Tenways showed his rotten teeth. ‘Fucking make me.’ ‘I’ll give it a try.’ A man came strolling out of the dark, just his sharp jaw showing in the shadows of his hood, boots crunching heedless through the corner of the fire and sending a flurry of sparks up around his legs. Very tall, very lean and he looked like he was carved out of wood. He was chewing meat from a chicken bone in one greasy hand and in the other, held loose under the crosspiece, he had the biggest sword Beck had ever seen, shoulder-high maybe from point to pommel, its sheath scuffed as a beggar’s boot but the wire on its hilt glinting with the colours of the fire-pit. He sucked the last shred of meat off his bone with a noisy slurp, and he poked at all the drawn steel with the pommel of his sword, long grip clattering against all those blades. ‘Tell me you lot weren’t working up to a fight without me. You know how much I love killing folk. I shouldn’t, but a man has to stick to what he’s good at. So how’s this for a recipe…’ He worked the bone around between finger and thumb, then flicked it at Tenways so it bounced off his chain mail coat. ‘You go back to fucking sheep and I’ll fill the graves.’ Tenways licked his bloody top lip. ‘My fight ain’t with you, Whirrun.’ And it all came together. Beck had heard songs enough about Whirrun of Bligh, and even hummed a few himself as he fought his way through the logpile. Cracknut Whirrun. How he’d been given the Father of Swords. How he’d killed his five brothers. How he’d hunted the Shimbul Wolf in the endless winter of the utmost North, held a pass against the countless Shanka with only two boys and a woman for company, bested the sorcerer Daroum-ap-Yaught in a battle of wits and bound him to a rock for the eagles. How he’d done all the tasks worthy of a hero in the valleys, and so come south to seek his destiny on the battlefield. Songs to make the blood run hot, and cold too. Might be his was the hardest name in the whole North these days, and standing right there in front of Beck, close enough to lay a hand on. Though that probably weren’t a good idea. ‘Your fight ain’t with me?’ Whirrun glanced about like he was looking for who it might be with. ‘You sure? Fights are twisty little bastards, you draw steel it’s always hard to say where they’ll lead you. You drew on Calder, but when you drew on Calder you drew on Curnden Craw, and when you drew on Craw you drew on me, and Jolly Yon Cumber, and Wonderful there, and Flood – though he’s gone for a wee, I think, and also this lad here whose name I’ve forgotten.’ Sticking his thumb over his shoulder at Beck. ‘You should’ve seen it coming. No excuse for it, a proper War Chief fumbling about in the dark like you’ve nothing in your head but shit. So my fight ain’t with you either, Brodd Tenways, but I’ll still kill you if it’s called for, and add your name to my songs, and I’ll still laugh afterwards. So?’ ‘So what?’ ‘So shall I draw?

The shepherd drives the wolf19 from the sheep’s throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as a liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act as the destroyer of liberty, especially if the sheep was a black one.

To me, the most startling thing Jesus ever said was when He assigned His followers the task of going out in pairs to share His good news with lost people. He said that He was sending them “as sheep among wolves.” Still, He expected them to prevail. In the history of the world, no sheep has ever won a fight with a wolf. The very idea is insane.

You're really not scared, are you? I can't see even a lick of fear in you, Red... Why is that? Every pleb in this school turn tail when they see me... Like they can smell the blood and death that surrounds me. But you... You're either completely stupid and bind, or you don't care. See. You're not one of the sheep here, Red. Maybe not quite a wolf yet either... but you're still different.

It is also said that the sheep heed the Shepherd, because they know his voice. Is it true that men recognize Christ's call and respond to it? In one sense it must be, for he has said so; yet much in me qualifies the statement. Actually I respond much more readily to the call of 'the others'; I neither really understand Christ's summons nor follow it. Therefore, in order that I may hear, he must not only speak, but also open my ears to his voice. Part of me, the profoundest part, listens to it, but superficial, loud contradiction often overpowers it. The opponents with whom God must struggle in order to win us are not primarily ‘the others,’ but ourselves; we bar his way. The wolf who puts the hireling to flight is not only outside; he is also within. We are the arch-enemy of our own salvation, and the Shepherd must fight first of all with us – for us.

They stood high on top of the hill overlooking the glen, the water rushing by, the sheep grazing on the green grass across the burn, and white clouds passing overhead against the blue sky. He still had hold of her arm, but then he released her, cupped her face with both hands, and kissed her.

Then Smaug really did laugh—a devastating sound which shook Bilbo to the floor, while far up in the tunnel the dwarves huddled together and imagined that the hobbit had come to a sudden and a nasty end. “Revenge!” he snorted, and the light of his eyes lit the hall from floor to ceiling like scarlet lightning. “Revenge! The King under the Mountain is dead and where are his kin that dare seek revenge? Girion Lord of Dale is dead, and I have eaten his people like a wolf among sheep, and where are his sons’ sons that dare approach me? I kill where I wish and none dare resist. I laid low the warriors of old and their like is not in the world today. Then I was but young and tender. Now I am old and strong, strong, strong, Thief in the Shadows!” he gloated. “My armour is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!

In the world everyone wants to be a 'wolf,' and no one is called to play the part of 'sheep.' Yet the world cannot live without this living witness of sacrifice. That is why it is essential that Christians should be very careful not to be 'wolves' in the spiritual sense - that is, people who try to dominate others. Christians must accept the domination of other people, and offer the daily sacrifice of their lives, which is united with the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

... 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.

The “Address at a Sanitary Fair” shifts, somewhat abruptly, to a discussion of the meaning of liberty. “We all declare for liberty,” he says, “but in using the same word we do not all mean the same thing. With some the word liberty may mean for each man to do as he pleases with himself, and the product of his labor; while with others the same word may mean for some men to do as they please with other men, and the product of other men’s labor.” Thus, Lincoln continues, “the shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep’s throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as a liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act as the destroyer of liberty, especially as the sheep was a black one.

The forest had retreated. I could see farm cottages where once there had been only sheep pastures, pastures where there had been forest, and stumplands beyond that. My heart sank; once we had hunted there, my wolf and I, where now sheep pastured. The world had to change and for some reason the prosperity of men always results in them taking ever more from wild creatures and places. Foolish, perhaps, to feel that pang of regret for what was gone, and perhaps it was only felt by those who straddled the worlds of humans and beasts.

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

Fear: what did those who inflicted it know? They knew that it worked, even how it worked, but not what it felt like. ‘The wolf cannot speak of the fear of the sheep,’ as they say.

In order to be seen as merciful, one must first be seen as powerful. There is no mercy that a sheep can show a wolf.

None of the sheep ever wanted a sheepdog around until one of them spotted a wolf. By then, it was often too late.

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

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

An army of disciplined sheep is greater than an army of undisciplined wolves.

The promise of easy money is but a wolf's trap laid out for sheep seeking taller grass.

It takes in reality only one to make a quarrel. It is useless for the sheep to pass resolutions in favour of vegetarianism while the wolf remains of a different opinion

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.

The same good folk who would burn me for a psychal now paid me to use my cursed gramarye to guard their sheep.

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.

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

Blaming the wolf would not help the sheep much. The sheep must learn not to fall into the clutches of the wolf.

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

The grass is always greener on the other side…

A fox will kill every chicken in the coop just because it can do it. However, a wolf takes only one lamb, and the rest of the sheeps start to fear him

This is my territory, baby, you're just a little sheep that walked right into the wolf's den.

she is no sheep, she is the wolf disguised to blend in and strike at a moment’s notice. The force that no one saw coming.

Mr. Arbuthnot certainly was not prepared for her response to his statement that February was a dangerous month. “It is,” answered Laura with almost violent agreement. “If you are a were-wolf, and very likely you may be, for lots of people are without knowing, February, of all months, is the month when you are most likely to go out on a dark windy night and worry sheep.

A poisonous pill is never a whit the less poisonous because it is gilded over with gold; nor a wolf is never a whit the less a wolf because he has put on a sheep's skin; nor the devil is never a whit the less a devil because he appears sometimes like an angel of light. So neither is sin any whit the less filthy and abominable by its being painted over with virtue's colors.

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?

The deviation of man from the state in which he was originally placed by nature seems to have proved to him a prolific source of diseases. From the love of splendour, from the indulgences of luxury, and from his fondness for amusement he has familiarised himself with a great number of animals, which may not originally have been intended for his associates. The wolf, disarmed of ferocity, is now pillowed in the lady's lap. The cat, the little tiger of our island, whose natural home is the forest, is equally domesticated and caressed. The cow, the hog, the sheep, and the horse, are all, for a variety of purposes, brought under his care and dominion.

Only he will deserve the name of “man” and can count upon anything prepared for them from above, who has already acquired corresponding data for being able to preserve intact both the wolf and the sheep entrusted to his care.

There’s nothing worse than a wolf befriending sheep. Avoid false friendship at all costs. If you are good, straightforward, and well meaning it should show in your eyes and not escape notice.” —MARCUS AURELIUS, MEDITATIONS, 11.15

There’s an entire field of bloody sheep out there. Don’t you … I don’t know … fancy some fresh lamb chops or something?” Stephen laughed at his own joke and Cade rolled his eyes. “Big bad wolf could find some little pigs or something?

Revenge!” he snorted, and the light of his eyes lit the hall from floor to ceiling like scarlet lightning. “Revenge! The King under the Mountain is dead and where are his kin that dare seek revenge? Girion Lord of Dale is dead, and I have eaten his people like a wolf among sheep, and where are his sons’ sons that dare approach me? I kill where I wish and none dare resist. I laid low the warriors of old and their like is not in the world today. Then I was but young and tender. Now I am old and strong, strong, strong, Thief in the Shadows!” he gloated. “My armour is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!

The corporate farmer is the absent farmer, the stranger on his own property, too important to worry about little details like whether a pig has room to turn or straw to sleep on. He is our modern hireling, too busy with bigger business than the care of his own animals, and we were warned about him long ago: The hired hand—who is no shepherd nor owner of the sheep— catches sight of the wolf coming and runs away, leaving the sheep to be snatched and scattered by the wolf. That is because he works for pay; he has no concern for the sheep.

THE SHEEPDOGS Most humans truly are like sheep Wanting nothing more than peace to keep To graze, grow fat and raise their young, Sweet taste of clover on the tongue. Their lives serene upon Life’s farm, They sense no threat nor fear no harm. On verdant meadows, they forage free With naught to fear, with naught to flee. They pay their sheepdogs little heed For there is no threat; there is no need. To the flock, sheepdog’s are mysteries, Roaming watchful round the peripheries. These fang-toothed creatures bark, they roar With the fetid reek of the carnivore, Too like the wolf of legends told, To be amongst our docile fold. Who needs sheepdogs? What good are they? They have no use, not in this day. Lock them away, out of our sight We have no need of their fierce might. But sudden in their midst a beast Has come to kill, has come to feast The wolves attack; they give no warning Upon that calm September morning They slash and kill with frenzied glee Their passive helpless enemy Who had no clue the wolves were there Far roaming from their Eastern lair. Then from the carnage, from the rout, Comes the cry, “Turn the sheepdogs out!” Thus is our nature but too our plight To keep our dogs on leashes tight And live a life of illusive bliss Hearing not the beast, his growl, his hiss. Until he has us by the throat, We pay no heed; we take no note. Not until he strikes us at our core Will we unleash the Dogs of War Only having felt the wolf pack’s wrath Do we loose the sheepdogs on its path. And the wolves will learn what we’ve shown before; We love our sheep, we Dogs of War. Russ Vaughn 2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment 101st Airborne Division Vietnam 65-66

Abdullah Ibn Dinar relates, "Once I was walking with the Caliph Omar near Mecca when we met a shepherd's slave-boy driving his flock. Omar said to him, "Sell me a sheep." The boy answered, "They are not mine, but my master's." Then, to try him, Omar said, "Well, you can tell him that a wolf carried one off, and he will know nothing about it." "No, he won't," said the boy, "but God will." Omar then wept, and, sending for the boy's master, purchased him and set him free, exclaiming, "For this saying thou art free in this world and shalt be free in the next." There

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.

Sometimes she said rather amusing things, and displayed unexpected stores (General Stores) of knowledge. But her remarks were as a rule so disconnected from the conversation that no one paid much attention to them. Mr. Arbuthnot certainly was not prepared for her response to his statement that February was a dangerous month. “It is,” answered Laura with almost violent agreement. “If you are a were-wolf, and very likely you may be, for lots of people are without knowing, February, of all months, is the month when you are most likely to go out on a dark windy night and worry sheep.

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoll'n with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said, But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.

I felt sorry for the inhabitants and went into the forest to admonish the wolf in God's name not to eat any more sheep. I called him, he came—and do you know what his answer was? 'Francis, Francis,' he said, 'do not destroy God's prescribed order. The sheep feeds on grass, the wolf on sheep—that's the way God ordained it. Do not ask why; simply obey God's will and leave me free to enter the sheepfolds whenever I feel the pinch of hunger. I say my prayers just like Your Holiness. I say: "Our Father who reignest in the forests and hast commanded me to eat meat, Thy will be done. Give me this day my daily sheep so that my stomach may be filled, and I shall glorify Thy name. Great art Thou, Lord, who hast created mutton so delicious. And when the day cometh that I shall die, Grant, Lord, that I may be resurrected, and that with me may be resurrected all the sheep I have eaten—so that I may eat them again!"' That, Brother Leo, is what the wolf answered me.

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.

One bee does not make a swarm. One wasp does not make a nest. One wolf does not make a pack. One bull does not make a herd. One dog does not make a litter. One sheep does not make a flock. One lion does not make a pride. One branch does not make a tree. One pebble does not make a hill. One rock does not make a mountain. One dune does not make a desert. One spark does not make a flame. One finger does not make a hand. One color does not make a rainbow. One leaf does not make a plant. One flower does not make a garden. One seed does not make a forest. One drop does not make an ocean. One cloud does not make a sky. One star does not make a galaxy. One world does not make a universe.

The Quack Toad 84 The Fox Without a Tail 85 The Mischievous Dog 86 The Rose and the Butterfly 86 The Cat and the Fox 88 The Boy and the Nettles 88 The Old Lion 89 The Fox and the Pheasants 89 Two Travelers and a Bear 90 The Porcupine and the Snakes 91 The Fox and the Monkey 91 The Mother and the Wolf 92 The Flies and the Honey 92 The Eagle and the Kite 93 The Stag, the Sheep, and the Wolf 93 The Animals and the Plague 94 The Shepherd and the Lion 95 The Dog and His Reflection 96 The Hare and the Tortoise 96 The Bees and Wasps, and the Hornet 98 The Lark and Her Young Ones 99 The Cat and the Old Rat 100 The Fox and the Crow 101 The Ass and His Shadow 102 The Miller, His Son, and the Ass 102 The

- Yeah, this is it. This is war... it takes you away from your loved ones, takes you to places you had no idea about, takes you through suffering and deprivation, hunger, thirst, sickness and wounds. It forces you to see, do and live through terrible experiences that you wish you had never known, and once you have, to forget them as soon as possible. It takes your friends and comrades and, if it doesn't kill them, then it turns them into something they don't even know what they are. And in the end, if you get to live those moments, when peace is announced and you begin to believe that you will return home, to your life, to the family and community you left behind, to the state of normality you dreamed of when it was harder on the front, you will find that it is not like that at all. - Why, Sarge? College Boy asked... - Because, you see, College Boy, after the end of the war not only you changed, but also those back home. They too had their struggles, their deprivations, sufferings, illnesses, injuries. Whether you got hot food today depends only on the conditions at the front and how much the quartermaster and subsistence services cared. But, back home, they have to search, they have to struggle without being guaranteed that they will succeed in finding something to put on the table for their children, or their elders. And so, they can go for days on end, starving. You, if you are sick or wounded, the military hospital will treat you as best they can. But they, at home, a visit to the family doctor is an expense that most can't afford and so they end up in the hospital, which is overcrowded, when it's too late, often. So they are changed too, not just you. You, however, have something more than them. You, you've known the chaos of frontline combat, the cruelty of taking the lives of others like yourself. And, like the sheepdog who fights the wolf, when it returns to the fold it carries both it's own blood and the wolf's. And the sheep, they don't see the wolf anymore, but they don't see the dog that was guarding them either. They only see the fangs showing through the open, blood-stained snout. They smell the scent of the wolf that has been impregnated into the dog's fur in battle and then, at that very moment, they no longer recognize the one who stood by them, no matter what the weather. It's the same with you. They fear you, and no matter how much they smile at you or say words that make you think you are welcome, you actually see fear and distrust in their eyes.

FOR YEARS I have carried in my head a thought tossed out by Aldo Leopold. In the early 20th century, he worked for the U.S. Forest Service in Eastern Arizona, and he killed a wolf to protect the cattle and increase the deer. He went on to become a pioneer in wildlife management and a leading conservationist. He wrote an essay about that killing. He’d decided that when he’d pulled the trigger and helped remove the wolf from the Southwest, he’d made the mountain a lesser place. He said we had to learn to think like a mountain. I stare into the gate of rock framing the entrance to Pima Canyon. The mesquite leaves hang listless in the heat. Underfoot, a broken field of granite spreads out. Past that stone gate, the freedom of the Pusch Ridge Wilderness begins. The place feels wanting without bighorns watching me. I can’t prove this. But I’ve known it since I was a boy. That’s why we look at the mountains and crave to be near them. Maybe we can’t think like a mountain. But we can do better than we have. We can bring the bighorns back where they belong. Counting sheep, An Essay by

I have never seen sheep kill sheep, but wolves? We have civil unrest in Pakistan, Iran, Afghanistan, Lebanon, Sudan, Somalia, Algeria, the Philippines, Indonesia, Egypt, Occupied Judea…everywhere. Where the creed of the wolf thrives, everyone dies. The sheep are not the only ones dying—the wolves eat the sheep, but they are also killing each other without mercy.

The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep’s throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as a liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act as the destroyer of liberty. Plainly the sheep and the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of the word liberty; and precisely the same difference prevails today among us human creatures, and all professing to love liberty.

For the white man to ask the black man if he hates him is just like the rapist asking the raped, or the wolf asking the sheep "do you hate me?" The white man is in no moral position to accuse anyone else of hate. Why when all of my ancestors are snake-bitten, and I'm snake bitten, and I warn my children to avoid snakes, what does that snake sound like accusing me of hate-teaching?

Let’s go for a walk, Mollie.” Frank Spencer stiffened, but Mollie’s annoying lawyer spoke in a calm voice. “They say that when a wolf wants to lead a sheep to slaughter, he’ll try to cut her off from the herd where he can do his worst in private.” There was snickering around the firelight as the entire herd moved in to protect the object of his affections. With the grinning faces of several men gloating at him, it would be impossible to sneak Mollie away. Zack turned to her with a pleasant smile on his face. “You know how in mythology the blind man is always the source of great wisdom and insight? Why couldn’t you find one of those blind guys to be friends with?” Frank appeared flattered by the statement. He grinned as he warmed his hands before the brazier.

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick The Secret Meaning of Things, Lawrence Ferlinghetti Fantastic Four #89, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. LeGuin The Armies of the Night, Norman Mailer Behold the Man, Michael Moorcock Portnoy’s Complaint, Philip Roth City of the Chasch, Jack Vance Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe

The owner of this house is a psychotic loony. My mate, the wolf, has just eaten his favourite sheep. Said psychotic loony has gone out with a small army to kill the wolf, not that he’ll be stupid enough to stay within ten miles of this place, and when the psycho returns, I’m either going to have to marry him or find myself dead, dismembered and stuffed in his forbidden closet. I am leaving before they get back.

there were just three categories of human beings—sheep, sheepdogs, and wolves. To those three categories, Harvath had added another—wolf hunters. That was what the world needed more of. The sheep had only two speeds—graze and stampede. They needed sheepdogs to keep them safe in case of an attack by the wolves. Wolf hunters, though, were needed to find and kill the wolves, whenever possible, before they attacked.

At no time are the trust and support in the government higher than during a crisis. It happened when the Germans came and occupied Denmark during the Second World War. It happened in the States when the terrorists flew into the towers. It even happened after the tsunami hit Indonesia. All over the world, people are the same. They are sheep. And sheep look to their pack leader when the wolf comes around. Thorn steps

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.

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.

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.

Do you think because they are not bishops they are brutes? One Christian’s oath is as good as another’s. Look at any part of this kingdom, my lord bishop, and you will find dereliction, destitution. There are men and women on the roads. The sheep farmers are grown so great that the little man is knocked off his acres and the plowboy is out of house and home. In a generation these people can learn to read. The plowman can take up a book. Believe me, Gardiner, England can be otherwise.

A shark does not ask for permission to rule the waters. A bear does not ask for permission to rule the woods. A wolf does not ask for permission to rule the forest. A camel does not ask for permission to rule the desert. A lion does not ask for permission to rule the jungle. Trees do not ask for permission to rule woodlands. Gravel does not ask for permission to rule mountains. Light does not ask for permission to rule summer. Wind does not ask for permission to rule autumn. Snow does not ask for permission to rule winter. Water does not ask for permission to rule the sea. Plants do not ask for permission to rule rainforests. Animals do not ask for permission to rule wildernesses. Stars do not ask for permission to rule the sky. Nature does not ask for permission to rule the world. An eagle achieves more than a turkey in a lifetime. A leopard achieves more than a hyena in a lifetime. A fox achieves more than a rabbit in a lifetime. A falcon achieves more than a vulture in a lifetime. A lion achieves more than a sheep in a lifetime. A leader achieves more than a student in a lifetime. A saint achieves more than a sinner in a lifetime. A prophet achieves more than a priest in a lifetime. A master achieves more than a disciple in a lifetime. A conqueror achieves more than a warrior in a lifetime. A hero achieves more than a villain in a lifetime. A maestro achieves more than an apprentice in a lifetime. A genius achieves more than a talent in a lifetime. A star achieves more than a critic in a lifetime. A legend achieves more than a champion in a lifetime.

Please do not take my making this comparison as an insult, brother, it is better to be a sheep than a wolf, better to be slain than to slay - better to be Abel than Cain. And, and - I hope, or rather I am sure, that I am not a wolf either. Suppose that it’s not just in our imagination, but that you and I are really like sheep among our fellow creatures. All right - granting the existence of rather hungry and false wolves, it would not be impossible that we should be devoured someday. Well, this may not be so very pleasant, but I tell myself: It is, after all, better to be ruined than to do the ruining.

~ 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.

They came late to the empty land and looked with bitterness upon the six wolves watching them from the horizon's rim. With them was a herd of goats and a dozen black sheep. They took no account of the wolves' possession of this place, for in their minds ownership was the human crown that none other had the right to wear. The beasts were content to share in survival's struggle, in hunt and quarry, and the braying goats and bawling sheep had soft throats and carelessness was a common enough flaw among herds; and they had not yet learned the manner of these two-legged intruders. Herds were fed upon by many creatures. Often the wolves shared their meals with the crows and coyotes, and had occasion to argue with lumbering bears over a delectable prize. When I came upon the herders and their longhouse on a flat above the valley, I found six wolf skulls spiked above the main door. In my travels as a minstrel I knew enough that I had no need to ask - this was a tale woven into our kind, after all. No words, either, for the bear skins on the walls, the antelope hides and elk racks. Not a brow lifted for the mound of bhederin bones in the refuse pit, or the vultures killed by the poison-baited meat left for the coyotes. That night I sang and spun tales for my keep. Songs of heroes and great deeds and they were pleased enough and the beer was passing and the shank stew palatable. Poets are sembling creatures, capable of shrugging into the skin of man, woman, child and beast. There are some among them secretly marked, sworn to the cults of the wilderness. And that night I shared out my poison and in the morning I left a lifeless house where not a dog remained to cry, and I sat upon a hill with my pipe, summoning once more the wild beasts. I defend their ownership when they cannot, and make no defence against the charge of murder; but temper your horror, friends: there is no universal law that places a greater value upon human life over that of a wild beast. Why would you ever imagine otherwise?

So, it is natural to man that he should live in a society of many. More fully: in other animals, there is imprinted a natural inclination toward all the things which are useful or harmful to them, as the sheep naturally esteems the wolf to be its enemy. . . But man has a natural knowledge of those things which are necessary for his life only in common, as he, so to speak, strives through reason to move from universal principles to those things which are necessary for human life. But it is not possible for one man to attain, through his own reason, to everything of this sort. And so it is necessary to man that he live in a multitude, that one might be helped by another.

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.

Man, and the other animals whom he has afflicted with his malady or depraved by his dominion, are alone diseased. The Bison, the wild Hog, the Wolf, are perfectly exempt from malady, and invariably die either from external violence or from mature old age. But the domestic Hog, the Sheep, the Cow, the Dog, are subject to an incredible variety of distempers, and, like the corruptors of their nature, have physicians who thrive upon their miseries. The super-eminence of man is, like Satan’s, the super-eminence of pain; and the majority of his species doomed to poverty, disease and crime, have reason to curse the untoward event that, by enabling him to communicate his sensations, raised him above the level of his fellow animals.

You have doubtless read Trotter’s Instincts of the Herd in War and Peace, Mister Bond. Well, I am by nature and predilection a wolf and I live by a wolf’s laws. Naturally the sheep describe such a person as a “criminal”. ‘The fact, Mister Bond,’ The Big Man continued after a pause, ‘that I survive and indeed enjoy limitless success, although I am alone against countless millions of sheep, is attributable to the modern techniques I described to you on the occasion of our last talk, and to an infinite capacity for taking pains. Not dull, plodding pains, but artistic, subtle pains. And I find, Mister Bond, that it is not difficult to outwit sheep, however many of them there may be, if one is dedicated to the task and if one is by nature an extremely well-equipped wolf.

12He who is  ha hired hand and not a shepherd, who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and  ileaves the sheep and flees, and the wolf snatches them and  jscatters them. 13He flees because  khe is a hired hand and  lcares nothing for the sheep. 14 mI am the good shepherd.  nI know my own and  omy own know me, 15 pjust as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and  qI lay down my life for the sheep. 16And  rI have other sheep that are not of this fold.  sI must bring them also, and  tthey will listen to my voice. So there will be  uone flock,  vone shepherd. 17 wFor this reason the Father loves me,  xbecause  yI lay down my life that I may take it up again. 18 zNo one takes it from me, but  yI lay it down  aof my own accord. I have authority to lay it down, and  bI have authority to take it up again.  cThis charge I have received from my Father.

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.

Nimble, alert, the big white dog was not still a moment. His duty was to keep the flock compact, to head the stragglers and turn them back; and he knew his part perfectly. There was dash and fire in his work. He never barked. As he circled the flock the small Navajo sheep, edging ever toward forbidden ground, bleated their way back to the fold, the larger ones wheeled reluctantly, and the old belled rams squared themselves, lowering their massive horns as if to butt him. Never, however, did they stand their ground when he reached them, for there was a decision about Wolf which brooked no opposition. At times when he was working on one side a crafty sheep on the other would steal out into the thicket. Then Mescal called and Wolf flashed back to her, lifting his proud head, eager, spirited, ready to take his order. A word, a wave of her whip sufficed for the dog to rout out the recalcitrant sheep and send him bleating to his fellows.

There is nothing illogical in the desire of the "have-nots" to appropriate the wealth of the "haves"; in fact, it is part and parcel of the law of animal life. The bear robs the hive and the wolf the fold, and when "nature red in tooth and claw" is stretched into its human dimension, there is nothing irrational in Marx's theory that, granted the power, one social class should devour another. But what is irrational is, to assume that by robbing the hive the bear will assume the industry of the bee, or by robbing the fold the wolf will become as pacific as the sheep. It is astonishing that a man of Marx's high intelligence could have believed in ritualistic cannibalism on the social plane; that by wresting the forces of production from the bourgeoisie and centralizing them in the hands of the proletariat, the proletariat would automatically aacquire the skills of the ruling class. And it is equally astonishing that a man of Lenin's mental calibre could have attempted to put this magic into practice.

She gazed out at the seductive vista. The countryside was dressed in its prettiest May garb- everything budding or blooming or bursting out in the exuberance of late spring. For Laura, the landscape at thirteen hundred feet up a Welsh mountain was the perfect mix of reassuringly tamed and excitingly wild. In front of the house were lush, high meadows filled with sheep, the lambs plump from their mother's grass-rich milk. Their creamy little shapes bright and clean against the background of pea green. A stream tumbled down the hillside, disappearing into the dense oak woods at the far end of the fields, the ocher trunks fuzzy with moss. On either side of the narrow valley, the land rose steeply to meet the open mountain on the other side of the fence. Here young bracken was springing up sharp and tough to claim the hills for another season. Beyond, in the distance, more mountains rose and fell as far as the eye could see. Laura undid the latch and pushed open the window. She closed her eyes. A warm sigh of the wind carried the scent of hawthorn blossom from the hedgerow.

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,

A wolf that eats peasant's sheep loses his teeth before the one that must hunt in the woods.

Lincoln made the short trip to Baltimore and gave one of the most insightful abolitionist speeches of his career on April 18, 1864. He answered the enduring American paradox: How could the land of freedom also be the land of slavery? “With some the word liberty may mean for each man to do as he pleases with himself, and the product of his labor,” he said, “while with others the same word may mean for some men to do as they please with other men, and the product of other men’s labor.” Lincoln used an analogy for clarification. “The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep’s throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as a liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act as the destroyer of liberty, especially as the sheep was a black one,” he said. “Hence we behold the processes by which thousands are daily passing from under the yoke of bondage, hailed by some as the advance of liberty, and bewailed by others as the destruction of all liberty.

Cyrene was glad to. That meant more enticing targets for predators. She drove her herds to dangerous places, hoping to attract bigger and badder monsters to fight. The sheep and cows weren’t even worried about it. They trusted Cyrene completely. One cow would get a whiff of danger and ask another cow, “What’s that?” “Oh,” the second cow would say, “that’s just a pack of wolves.” “Won’t they eat us? Should we panic and stampede?” “No,” said the second cow. “Watch.” Cyrene came hurtling out of the darkness, wailing like a banshee, and slaughtered the entire wolf pack. “Oh, cool,” said the first cow. “Yeah, she’s awesome. Want to chew some more cud?

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

Well,” said Carl, “the first wolf I tamed was called Bark, so I thought I’d give them all names along a similar theme. So there’s Bark 2, Bark 3, Bark 4, Bark 5, Bark 6, Bark 7, Bark 8, Bark 9, Bark 10, Bark 11, Bark 12, Bark 13, Bark 14 and Alan.” “Alan?” said Dave. “Named after my uncle,” said Carl. “He blew himself up when he was frightened by a sheep. He was a bit of an idiot.

The difference between a wolf and a sheep is that a sheep will stand by and watch a wolf devour its own lambs. If you threaten a wolf’s pup, it’ll rip your throat out. Wolves are foul, vicious creatures. But it’s better to be a wolf pup than a dead lamb. Now good night.

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.

Sitting across from me is my father, and as I look into his worn face it hits me, a truth so powerful I don’t know why I’ve never understood it before. The truth is this: that I am not a good daughter. I am a traitor, a wolf among sheep; there is something different about me and that difference is not good.

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.

DO NOT BE TIMID TOWARDS THE WORLD; BE BOLD. DO NOT SUBMIT TO THE WORLD; DOMINATE IT. Better a wolf than a dog. Better a shepherd than a sheep. Better Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied (as J.S. Mill memorably said).

You're a fierce, wild thing. A force. You are not a sheep like them. You are a wolf.

As he did so, Thorn said meaningfully, “Careful. It’s quite a tight fit. Apparently somebody lined it with sheepskin.” Suddenly, Thorn’s preoccupation with the lining of the keel box registered with Hal and he looked guiltily at the old sea wolf. “Oh . . . ,” he said awkwardly. “Sorry, Thorn. I didn’t know it was your sheepskin vest . . . I sort of found it . . . and I . . .” “You assumed a sheep had died and left you its coat?” Thorn said with heavy sarcasm. “Just slipped out of it and left it lying around for you to find?” “Well, no. Not really. I just didn’t think . . .” “And we’re all used to that, aren’t we?” Thorn replied. He held Hal’s gaze until the young skirl dropped his eyes. Point made, Thorn thought. Then he reached for the tiller. “Right. Let’s see how this fin of yours works.

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?

Oh you know how it is... You get a taste for something and you just can't stop. Blood is…. Better than drugs, better than sex. And there is no conscience to trouble you any more, nothing to hold you back from doing absolutely anything you want. From being a red mouthed wolf in a world of sheep. I love it!

Sheep never understand the wolf.

Is that the strength of House Bellona? Do you watch like sheep as the wolf comes among the fold?

He crossed the line,” Konstantin said. “He was a tame wolf we released back into the forest. As long as he stayed there, we wouldn’t hunt him. He took it upon himself to break into our pasture, kill our sheep, and crap all over our yard. Now we will put him down.

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.

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.

For Tobias, I have no beliefs. He’s the embodiment of a lone wolf. And I’m all too familiar with the phrase ‘a wolf loses little sleep over the opinion of sheep.

the best preparation for teaching Christ’s lambs is love – love for Jesus and for them. We cannot be priests on their behalf unless like Aaron we wear their names upon our breasts. We must love or we cannot bless. Teaching is poor work when love is gone; it is like a smith working without a tire hammer or a builder without mortar. A shepherd who does not love his sheep is a hireling and not a shepherd; he will flee in the time of danger and leave his flock to the wolf. Where there is no love, there will be no life; living lambs are not to be fed by dead men.

İNTİHAR EDEN ADAM: Hayır, hayır, hayır! Hiçbir şey görmüyorum! Sadece nehri ve sonumu görüyorum!.. Ayrılırken, size bir soru sormak istiyorum. Hepimizi ilgilendiren bir şey... Kurt, neden ot yemez? KADIN: Anlamadım aşkım? BALIKÇI: Kurt, neden ot yemez diye sordu? KADIN: (Şaşırmış) Giderken, sorduğun soruya bak! Nasıl bir soru bu? Bir daha birbirimizi hiç görmeyeceğiz, oysa sen, “Kurt, neden ot yemez?” diye soruyorsun. BALIKÇI: (Omuzlarını düşürür) Herhalde... otu sevmiyor. Başka bir açıklama bulamıyorum. İNTİHAR EDEN ADAM: Kurt, ot yemez, bunu onun için koyunlar yapar. Bizimle ilgisi nedir? Biz koyunuz, hayatımız boyunca kurtlar için otladık. İnsan derisine bürünmüş kan emici canavarlar için! Canavarlar; ayaklarımızı, gözlerimizi, böbreklerimizi yediler, kanımızı emdiler! Daha çocukluğumuzdan beri, kuzuyken onlar için otladık hep! Kendimize bir bakalım! Neye benziyoruz! Üçümüzden, sağlıklı bir insan bile çıkmaz! İntiharın Genel Provası

As famously stated,” Rensselaer said, “even if some of the sheep don’t know it, there’s a difference between the wolf and the sheepdog. And what is that, Mr. Holworthy?” “The sheepdog doesn’t eat lamb.” “I don’t know about that, but he has no lust for blood.

You're really not scared, are you? I can't see even a lick of fear in you, Red... Why is that? Every pleb in this school turn tail when they see me... Like they can smell the blood and death that surrounds me. But you... You're either completely stupid and bind, or you don't care. See. You're not one of the sheep here, Red. Maybe not quite a wolf yet either... but you're still different.

It Never Troubles The Wolf How Many The Sheep May Be.

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.

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.

If I was truly honest with myself, which is not as easy as it sounds, I had to admit that I didn’t really enjoy fatherhood. I simply endured it, because it was part of the disguise that hid Dexter the Wolf from the world of sheep I lived in. And as far as I could tell, the kids merely endured me, too. I was not a good father. I tried, but it was strictly pro forma. My heart was never in it, and I was just no good at it.

Natural law varies according to the nature of different creatures. A horse, not being carnivorous, will perhaps judge a wolf that attacks and kills a sheep to be unjust. It will hate it for its bloodthirstiness and will feel a sense of horror if it chances to see some example of its butchery. Not so a lion. Moral good and evil, therefore, have nothing absolute about them. The only wicked acts are those which are repugnant to the inclinations of each kind of operative being, nor are those acts wicked which harm other beings but are not repugnant to the nature of the one who performs them.

The Shepherd DOES NOT use the rod to strike the sheep but guides them with it. However, the Shepherd will use the rod to strike the wolf to protect the sheep. Likewise, parents must gently guide their children like a shepherd, distinguishing that they are like sheep and not wolves.

About this matter you have gone astray! Who makes himself a sheep, the ancients say, is eaten by the wolf.

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.

He made it seem like he was the misunderstood black sheep of his family, only for me to realize he was actually the wolf.