Spice And Wolf Quotes

Not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. Some are made of witchcraft and wolf and a little bit of vice.

All men burn with foolish jealousy, but women are fools to take delight in it. This world is full of fools no matter where you look.

While one may lose much because of avarice, nothing was ever accomplished by abstinence.

the wolf who wins is the wolf you feed. The evil wolf feeds on anger, guilt, sorrow, lies, and regret. The good wolf needs a diet of love and honesty, spiced up with big spoonfuls of compassion and faith. So if you want the good wolf to win, you’re going to have to starve the other one.

After a time, her smile faded, then finally reappeared as she sighed. The pleasure of nostalgia is never without its companion, loneliness.

Lucas nodded the instant before Hawke caught the first hint of an exquisitely familiar scent on the breeze. Autumn leaves and spice and strength. His wolf stretched out at the intoxication of it. Maybe she wasn’t his mate, but the animal wasn’t bothered. It still wanted the man to take her, to claim her. To bite her. Jesus.

Not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. These are girls made of dark lace and witchcraft and a little bit of vice. These are daughters made claw first and story-mad, tiger roar and wolf-bad. These are women made of terrible tempests and savage storms and the untamed unwanted. These are damsels made of flawless fearlessness made of more bravery than knights have ever seen. These are princesses made of valour and poison alike and they are here to hold court as your queens.

If you're looking at a single withered tree, it can seem like a grievous wound to the forest. But from the forest's perspective, that tree's remains will nourish other plants, acting for the good of the whole forest. If you change your perspective, a situation right in front of you can reverse itself.

No matter how valuable these books, it seems a bit sad to let them go unread,

According to my grandmother’s people, two wolves live inside every creature: one evil and the other good. They spend all their time trying to destroy each other.” It was, Matthew thought, as good a description of blood rage as he was ever likely to hear from someone not afflicted with the disease. “My bad wolf is winning.” Jack looked sad. “He doesn’t have to,” Chris promised. “Nana Bets said the wolf who wins is the wolf you feed. The evil wolf feeds on anger, guilt, sorrow, lies, and regret. The good wolf needs a diet of love and honesty, spiced up with big spoonfuls of compassion and faith. So if you want the good wolf to win, you’re going to have to starve the other one.

If closing my eyes would make unfair things disappear, I would do that

Lawrence remembered a song he’d heard from a traveling minstrel. It claimed that the reason a god needed a festival every year was because it was lonely.

Beer was good, too, but its flavor depended on the skill of the craftsman and the tastes the person drinking it. Unlike wine, whose quality depended entirely on price, a beer's deliciousness was unrelated to its cost, so merchants tended to avoid it. There was no way to know if the particular brew would suit your taste unless you were from the region or town - so when he wanted to appear local, Lawrence would order beer.

In the morning they rose in a house pungent with breakfast cookery, and they sat at a smoking table loaded with brains and eggs, ham, hot biscuit, fried apples seething in their gummed syrups, honey, golden butter, fried steak, scalding coffee.  Or there were stacked batter-cakes, rum-colored molasses, fragrant brown sausages, a bowl of wet cherries, plums, fat juicy bacon, jam.  At the mid-day meal, they ate heavily: a huge hot roast of beef, fat buttered lima- beans, tender corn smoking on the cob, thick red slabs of sliced tomatoes, rough savory spinach, hot yellow corn-bread, flaky biscuits, a deep-dish peach and apple cobbler spiced with cinnamon, tender cabbage, deep glass dishes piled with preserved fruits-- cherries, pears, peaches.  At night they might eat fried steak, hot squares of grits fried in egg and butter, pork-chops, fish, young fried chicken.

Indeed. When I think about it, I can hardly stay still - I want to run around the Milone Company, swatting at the ass of every employee I see.

When someone’s lying, what’s important is not the content of the lie, but the reasoning behind it,

Lawrence could proceed no further with his jape. Holo looked at him as if stricken. “…That’s not fair,” he grumbled. “Mm-hm. Female privilege.

Lawrence was twenty-five. If he lived in a town he’d be married and taking his wife and children to church. His life was half over, and Holo’s childish demeanor penetrated his lonely heart.

The monstrous wolf was the size of a Cascar plow horse, and Clay had just begun composing his death scream – he was thinking something high-pitched, sort of, er, 'falling from a great height' meets, 'I just shat my pants' with a touch of, 'petulant little girl doesn't get her way' thrown in to spice things up – when he heard a deep growling behind him.

The two thought themselves alone. But all the while, one watched with the night-wide eyes of love. While they paced the pebbled paths between the silent flowers’ spiked arrays, sage Thyme spied upon each pale sigh, peeping between bloom and leaf. And while they sat side by side and hand in hand on the stained stone bench beneath the spreading wisteria, Thyme watched unwinking from the midnight face of the mute sundial. And while they lay lazy on the soft grass, swearing the sweet oaths of love and longing, and whispering as they parted that though long lives might pass like a night and the New Sun sunder the centuries, yet never should they ever part, Thyme crept and cried, counting seconds that spilled with the sand from the hourglass, and scenting the soft breezes that cooled the child’s burning cheek with his sad spice. The

Recently winning the silver medal of the 12th Dengeki Shosetsu Prize is an honor roughly equivalent to winning the moon in the sky. I couldn’t believe it. I had three different dreams in which I got a phone call that they’d mixed me up with somebody else.

She looked straight up at one of the cameras in the corner, but Lyle was the only one watching and he was under my thumb. Besides, he probably didn’t have the volume up, he’d be too busy listening to some romantic audiobook and taking notes on how to spice up his sex life with his boyfriend.

Once you taste poison, you might as well finish the meal. If it comes to that you would make as fine a dish as any. -Horo (Spice and Wolf)

If I get attached to you and this is all just a revenge ploy, I’ll haunt you until you take your last breath. And even then, I would follow you around hell throwing fireballs at you.” “First, if I’m going to hell, you have to come with me. I’d miss you too much down there by myself. Plus, we can throw fireballs at each other. It’ll be adorable. Like a snowball fight but with spice.” I touched my lips to hers, rubbing back and forth. “Second, aren’t you already attached to me?” Her nose scrunched again. “Why should I be the one to admit my feelings?” “I think I’ve done a lot of that. But here you go, Bex. I am attached to you. I have been for longer than I even realized. If I hate you, it’ll be because you try to leave me.” She did that humming thing again. “You’re extremely intense. It’s kind of scary.” “You’re the only person in my life I can be completely real with. Sometimes that realness might be scary. I’m hoping you can handle it because I want it to be you.

Consider McCormick Foods, a 126-year-old company that sells herbs, spices, and condiments. By 2010, the company’s traditional growth strategies had run their course. McCormick had already expanded into a full range of food seasonings and established a foothold up and down its supply chain, including operations in farming and food preparation. The company was running out of growth options. CIO Jerry Wolfe heard about Nike’s move into platform-building. Could McCormick do the same? Wolfe reached out to Barry Wacksman, a partner at R/GA, a leading New York design firm that had helped Nike design its platform. Together, they hit on the idea of using recipes and taste profiles to build a food-based platform. Wolfe and Wacksman used McCormick’s taste laboratories to distill three dozen flavor archetypes—such as minty, citrus, floral, garlicky, meaty—that can be used to describe almost any recipe. Based on personal preferences, the system can predict new recipes an individual is likely to savor. Members of the McCormick platform community can modify recipes and upload the new versions, creating ever-expanding flavor options and helping to identify new food trends, generating information that’s useful not only to the platform’s users but also to managers of grocery stores, food manufacturers, and restaurateurs.18

That being said, the world is like a river. You can never go as straight as you like." He turned around, and the expression on the captain's face was not smug, nor did it sneer at the ideals of a young man. It was that of a hermit who had weathered a great many things and tried to play them off calmly. "But those periodic twists and turns give fish a place to live.

money, I’d take what odd tasks came to hand.” Anything had seemed better than turning his steps toward home. And then…one day, it hadn’t, anymore. “I met Lord Hetwar when he was on an embassy to the king of Darthaca.” His desperate contrivances to win access to the sealmaster, he didn’t think worth recounting. “He was curious how a Wealding kinsman should be serving strangers so far from home, so I told him my tale. He was not daunted by my wolf and gave me a place in his guard that I might work my way back to my own country. I made myself useful during some incidents on the road, and he was pleased to make my place permanent. I rose in his household thereafter.” Ingrey’s mouth firmed in tight pride. “By my merits.” He applied himself to his spiced meat, sopping up the last of its gingery gravy with the inn’s good bread. Ijada had stopped eating a little while ago and sat solemn with thought, running her finger around the rim of her empty wine beaker. When she looked up and caught his eye, she managed a wan smile. Hallana waved away her maid’s attempt to feed her a second apple tart, and Hergi rolled up the stained napkin and bundled it away. The sorceress eyed Ingrey. “Feeling better now?” “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “Do you have any idea who laid this

This cheese and miracle fruit, Tracker, it is like sucking a goat’s teat and sweet spices come out.

I would think wolves would prefer spicy things. It’s bears that crave sweets.” “We don’t like spicy food. Once we found red fang-shaped fruit among the cargo of a shipwreck. We ate it and regretted it loud and long!” “Ah, hot peppers. Expensive, those.” “We dunked our heads in the river and decided humans were terrifying indeed,” said Holo with a chuckle, enjoying the memory for a moment as she gazed at the stalls.

She’d said she hated being alone. When a god forced people to worship it, perhaps it was only out of loneliness.

Nana Bets said the wolf who wins is the wolf you feed. The evil wolf feeds on anger, guilt, sorrow, lies, and regret. The good wolf needs a diet of love and honesty, spiced up with big spoonfuls of compassion and faith. So if you want the good wolf to win, you’re going to have to starve the other one.

As Ross entered the kitchen, he saw Ernest sitting at the scrubbed wooden table. The boy wolfed down a plate of breakfast as if it were the first decent meal he'd had in months. Sophia stood at the range with the scrawny cook-maid, apparently showing her how to prepare the morning's fare. "Turn them like this," Sophia was saying, expertly flipping a row of little cakes on a griddle pan. The kitchen atmosphere was especially fragrant today, spiced with frying bacon, coffee, and sizzling batter. Sophia looked fresh and wholesome, the trim curves of her figure outlined by a white apron that covered her charcoal-gray dress. Her gleaming hair was pinned in a coil at the top of her head and tied with a blue ribbon. As she saw him standing in the doorway, a smile lit her sapphire eyes, and she was so dazzlingly pretty that Ross felt a painful jab low in his stomach. "Good morning, Sir Ross," she said. "Will you have some breakfast?" "No, thank you," he replied automatically. "Only a jug of coffee. I never..." He paused as the cook set a platter on the table. It was piled with steaming batter cakes sitting in a pool of blackberry sauce. He had a special fondness for blackberries. "Just one or two?" Sophia coaxed. Abruptly it became less important that he adhere to his usual habits. Perhaps he could make time for a little breakfast, Ross reasoned. A five-minute delay would make no difference in his schedule. He found himself seated at the table facing a plate heaped with cakes, crisp bacon, and coddled eggs. Sophia filled a mug with steaming black coffee, and smiled at him once more before resuming her place at the range with Eliza. Ross picked up his fork and stared at it as if he didn't quite know what to do with it. "They're good, sir," Ernest ventured, stuffing his mouth so greedily that it seemed likely he would choke. Ross took a bite of the fruit-soaked cake and washed it down with a swallow of hot coffee. As he continued to eat, he felt an unfamiliar sense of well-being. Good God, it had been a long time since he'd had anything other than Eliza's wretched concoctions. For the next few minutes Ross ate until the platter of cakes was demolished. Sophia came now and then to refill his cup or offer more bacon. The cozy warmth of the kitchen and the sight of Sophia as she moved about the room caused a tide of unwilling pleasure inside him.

She was an ogre, clad only in a short, ragged tunic in spite of the damp. “Are you cold?” Daine asked. “We have a horse blanket somewhere.” She found one and offered it to the immortal. “I said Daine would welcome her,” Maura informed Tkaa. To Daine she added, “Iakoju’s our friend. She wants to help us get rid of Yolane and Tristan.” Iakoju stared at the blanket, pointed ears twitching back and forth. At last she took it. “Thank you,” she said quietly, and bowed from the waist. Maura helped the ogre drape the blanket around her shoulders. “She’s running away,” the ten-year-old explained. Placid eyes met Daine’s without blinking. Despite skinniness and poor clothes Iakoju was clean, and smelled of soap, earth, and something vaguely spicy. Daine sniffed, trying to identify the spice odor. “Are you eating something?” Iakoju smiled. “Maura give me candy.” Maura blushed. “Well, she looked so scared when I found her, and I remembered what you said, about people being mean to them and maybe if somebody was nice…