Quotes & Sayings About Wolves At Night

Where's Ben?" she asked after another painful swallow. The angle of the light in the room signaled morning. She'd survived the first horrible night of the illness. That was something for which to be grateful. "He didn't want to go. But your mama kicked him out yesterday." Phoebe bounded to the hearth fire and removed another pot of steaming water she had dangling from a gridiron that belonged to the kitchen. Susanna fought a wave of dizziness and frustration. "But don't you worry none." Phoebe returned to the bedside with the steaming pot, the scent of sassafras and rum drifting under the canopy of her bed. "It's gonna take a pack of wolves to keep that man from coming back to see you. — Jody Hedlund

I used to have a big dog, a rottweiler, to guard the place. One night I was working late, and he was outside barking in the snow. He wouldn't stop. Then he stopped. I went out ten minutes later with a lamp, and there was a ring of wolves eating my dog. — Martin Cruz Smith

And the stars in the night were the eyes of his wolves, and the wind itself was their song. — George R R Martin

The wolves prey upon the lambs in the darkness of the night, but the blood stains remain upon the stones in the valley until the dawn comes, and the sun reveals the crime to all. — Kahlil Gibran

Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were wolves in Wales, and birds the color of red-flannel petticoats whisked past the harp-shaped hills, when we sang and wallowed all night and day in caves that smelt like Sunday afternoons in damp front farmhouse parlors, and we chased, with the jawbones of deacons, the English and the bears, before the motor car, before the wheel, before the duchess-faced horse, when we rode the daft and happy hills bareback, it snowed and it snowed. — Dylan Thomas

I lay in bed that night, a first-time drunkard at seven years of age, pondering the punishment I knew would arrive on callused palms. In the forest, as if sensing my plight, wolves howled nocturnal laments. The magnificent lunar lullabies of my lupine brethren wooed me into a deep and cleansing sleep. — Mark Rice

He couldn't wait to get home from school, to play with Jenny 'till bedtime, when she went to sleep on his bed and both of them dreamed wonderful dreams all night, about a boy with a face like the sun and a small white dog gleaming like a star through the early-morning mist"

-Sky Wolves, Livi Michael — Livi Michael

Then he thought of Marland just now, on the edge of the hill, how the newborn sun flamed over her shoulder, having burned through the fog of the night; how the tops of the trees were beneath her feet and the city of Crescent was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Her face could change like the sky itself and like the sky never lost its radiance and beauty. Sierra Marland was a facade with no end and yet she had been as genuine and true to him as the heavens were blue. — Luke Taylor

That night the wind was howling almost like a wolf and there were some real wolves off to the west giving it lessons. — George R R Martin

We wanted to blast the world free of history.... picture yourself planting radishes and seed potatoes on the fifteenth green of a forgotten golf course. You'll hunt elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center, and dig clams next to the skeleton of the Space Needle leaning at a forty-five degree angle. We'll paint the skyscrapers with huge totem faces and goblin tikis, and every evening what's left of mankind will retreat to empty zoos and lock itself in cages as protection against the bears and big cats and wolves that pace and watch us from outside the cage bars at night. — Chuck Palahniuk

Some say he never blinks, and that he roams around the woods at night foraging for wolves. All we know is he's called the Stig. — Jeremy Clarkson

What are you doing?" Sicarius's voice floated from his tree perch.
"The usual night-watch activities." She tried to keep her tone light. Neither the creepy forest nor the creepy wolves were going to make her nervous, thank you very much.
"Staying awake, counting trees, throwing fire at wolves with glowing eyes. — Lindsay Buroker

And sleep that night on the cold plains of a foreign land, forty-six men wrapped in their blankets under the selfsame stars, the prairie wolves so like in their yammering, yet all about so changed and strange. — Cormac McCarthy

The idea in our culture of body solely as sculpture is wrong. Body is not marble. That is not its purpose. Its purpose is to protect, contain, support and fire the spirit and soul within it, to be a repository for memory, to fill us with feeling - that is the supreme psychic nourishment. It is to lift us and propel us, to fill us with feeling to prove that we exist, that we are here, to give us grounding, heft, weight. It is wrong to think of it as a place we leave in order to soar to the spirit. The body is the launcher of those experiences. Without body there would be no sensations of crossing thresholds, there would be no sense of lifting, no sense of height, weightlessness. All that comes from the body. The body is the rocket launcher. In its nose capsule, the soul looks out the window into the mysterious starry night and is dazzled. — Clarissa Pinkola Estes

From the edge of the forest where the mountains begin, a pack of sleeping wolves, huddled together in the cold, were woken. Travelling on the crystal air was a sound to fear in the night - the sound of parents calling out in anguish and loss.
A sound that would even chill the souls of beasts. — Sebastian Gregory

I turned to Ren, dropping my head low to honor the fallen alpha. The circled wolves did the same. I lifted my muzzle first, my howl singing out the pain of Ren's death, mourning him. One by one my packmates joined the song. Our howls filled the library, spilling into the winter night. The death song grew as the wolves still outside raised their voices to honor the lost young warrior. The chorus of wolf cries, full of heartache, swelled in the night, carrying Ren's memory to the very stars. — Andrea Cremer

And the answer, said the judge. If God meant to interfere in the degeneracy of mankind would he not have done so by now? Wolves cull themselves, man. What other creature could? And is the race of man not more predacious yet? The way of the world is to bloom and to flower and die but in the affairs of men there is no waning and the noon of his expression signals the onset of night. His spirit is exhausted at the peak of its achievement. His meridian is at once his darkening and the evening of his day. He loves games? Let him play for stakes. This you see here, these ruins wondered at by tribes of savages, do you not think that this will be again? Aye. And again. With other people, with other sons. — Cormac McCarthy

That was the best part, the dreaming. She dreamed of wolves most every night. A great pack of wolves, with her at the head. She was bigger than any of them, stronger, swifter, faster. She could outrun horses and outfight lions. When she bared her teeth even men would run from her, her belly was never empty long, and her fur kept her warm even when the wind was blowing cold. And her brothers and sisters were with her, many and more of them, fierce and terrible and hers. They would never leave her. — George R R Martin

It's a good life lesson, whether or. it you ever work with wolves, Edward.No matter what you do for someone- no matter if you feed him a bottle as a baby or curl up with him at night to keep him warm or go him food so he's not hungry- make one wrong move at the wrong moment, and you could become someone unrecognizable. — Jodi Picoult

The truth of death is a peculiar thing. For when they leave us the beloved are as if they never were. They vanish from this earth and vanish from the air. What remains are moors and mountains, the solid world upon which we find ourselves, and in which we reign. We are the wolves. We are the lions. After so many nights treading the banks with the dogs and my brothers, intent on some mettlesome purpose I did not truly understand, night after night I dreamed of the river. I dream it now: a river of stolen perfumes, winding its way through our inverse Eden. — Sarah Hall

Do you want to be put under first?" she asked Lewis as they sat down.
"Huh?" he replied in confusion.
Something like a cough came out of Vlad that jerked her head up. Vampires didn't need to cough. Was that a muffled laugh?
"You know." Kira's eyes flashed green at Lewis, and her fangs seemed to jump out of her gums. "Get bespelled so you don't remember this."
Lewis appeared even more confused. "If that's what you want."
I will not as for pointers from Dracula, she swore to herself. I will not. "Yeah, I'd feel better about that. So, ah ... look into my eyes."
Another strangled sound came from Vlad's direction. Now Kira was sure it was a laugh. She was determined to ignore him.
Lewis obediently stared at her, and Kira tried to make her voice sound confident. "You don't feel anything. You're not afraid."
"I am," came Vlad's immediate reply. "If you tell him wolves are the children of the night next, I might hurt myself laughing. — Jeaniene Frost

We are wolves of the guard,
soldiers of the light.
Hunted and haunted,bye the
beasts of night.
Friend to all and foe to none,
Love and loyalty bind us as one.
Time and tide shall heal all
wounds
Memories and madness shall
not consume.
To death and despair we shall
never surrender,
The pact never to be forsaken,
or torn asunder. — Melissa De La Cruz

I have heard African lions roar and the hacksaw cough of leopards just outside my safari tent, but neither of these is as haunting, as unsettling, as the savage symphony of gray wolves on a cold, still, northern night. — Erwin A. Bauer

But as I listened, I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves. The Count's eyes gleamed, and he said. "Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added, "Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter. — Bram Stoker

Outside the window, there slides past that unimaginable and deserted vastness where night is coming on, the sun declining in ghastly blood-streaked splendour like a public execution across, it would seem, half a continent, where live only bears and shooting stars and the wolves who lap congealing ice from water that holds within it the entire sky. All white with snow as if under dustsheets, as if laid away eternally as soon as brought back from the shop, never to be used or touched. Horrors! And, as on a cyclorama, this unnatural spectacle rolls past at twenty-odd miles an hour in a tidy frame of lace curtains only a little the worse for soot and drapes of a heavy velvet of dark, dusty blue. — Angela Carter

There, it's the old ways and no mistake; there it's only a corpse gone purple at the bottom and two coins no one will ever take back and the bread soaked through with sweat and your sins gleaming in every maggot, and sand under my eyelids and the wrappings still waiting and four jars lined up neatly with the faces watching, and my feet aching and my body going heavy everywhere and my throat too dry to swallow but my teeth gleaming wide, and the dark night all around us and a long walk home, and far off, silent, coming closer: wolves.

The sounds for that, they've never put a name to. — Genevieve Valentine

The cold is getting quite severe already; all the quail have gone, and last night there was a full orchestra of wolves outside the post-station. — Clive Phillipps-Wolley

It tore my heart out, because I heard his voice. The wolves sang slowly behind him, bittersweet harmony, but all I heard was Sam. His howl trembled, rose, fell in anguish.
I listened for a long time. I prayed for them to stop, to leave me alone, but at the same time I was desperately afraid they would. Long after the other voices had dropped away, Sam kept howling, very soft and slow.
When he finally fell silent, the night felt dead. — Maggie Stiefvater

I used to like wolves; they always arrived so
Punctually in sheep's clothing at the mortuary
To be prepared for burial by my father who
Showered his wrath on my mother with blows
From his fists at night; this warrior, this Lord — Abigail George

Wolves ate even mighty hunters, for there was no honor or code among predators, and everyone's guts steam the same way when torn open on a cold night. — Warren Ellis

But Jim, now, he knows it happens, he watches for it happening, he sees it start, he sees it finish, he licks the wound he expected, and never asks why: he knows. He always knew. Someone knew before him, a long time ago, someone who had wolves for pets and lions for night conversants. Hell, Jim doesn't know with his mind. But his body knows. And while Will's putting a bandage on his latest scratch, Jim's — Ray Bradbury

Two weeks earlier than scheduled, she flew into Vancouver and signed on with Greenpeace.
The work was neither taxing nor truly exciting but the people she met more than compensated and she forged many new friendships. The high points were the trips they made by sea kayak, exploring the wild inlets farther up the coast. They watched bears scoop salmon from the shallows and paddled among pods of orcas, so close you could have reached out and touched them. At night they camped at the water's edge, listening to the blow of whales in the bay and the distant howls of wolves in the forest above. — Nicholas Evans

A sickening howl stopped her, sucking the air out of her lungs.
The night's chatter silenced, even the loitering city rats pausing to listen.
Scarlet had heard wild wolves before, prowling the countryside in search of easy prey on the farms.
But never had a wolf's howl send a chill down her spine like that. — Marissa Meyer

The trees called to me, urging me to abandon what I knew and vanish into the oncoming night. It was a desire that had been tugging me with disconcerting frequency these days. — Maggie Stiefvater

Erland turned his eyes to the window and the figure that stood before it with arms crossed, staring into the anamorphic slurry of colors caught together in the burying of the sun as night fell like a jar of blue-black paint. — Luke Taylor

All men must sleep, Bran. Even princes."
"When I sleep I turn into a wolf." Bran turned his face away and looked back out into the night. "Do wolves dream?"
"All creatures dream, I think, yet not as men do."
"Do dead men dream?" Bran asked, thinking of his father. In the dark crypts below Winterfell, a stonemason was chiseling out his father's likeness in granite.
"Some say yes, some no," the maester answered. "The dead themselves are silent on the matter."
"Do trees dream?"
"Trees? No ... "
"They do," Bran said with sudden certainty. "They dream tree dreams. I dream of a tree sometimes. A weirwood, like the one in the godswood. It calls to me. The wolf dreams are better. I smell things, and sometimes I can taste the blood."
Maester Luwin tugged at his chain where it chafed his neck. "If you would only spend more time with the other children - "
"I hate the other children," Bran said, meaning the Walders. "I commanded you to send them away. — George R R Martin

The crumpled butcherpaper mountains lay in sharp shadowfold under the long blue dusk and in the middle distance the glazed bed of a dry lake lay shimmering like the mare imbrium and herds of deer were moving north in the last of the twilight, harried over the plain by wolves who were themselves the color of the desert floor. Glanton sat his horse and looked long out upon this scene. Sparse on the mesa the dry weeds lashed in the wind like the earth's long echo of lance and spear in old encounters forever unrecorded. All the sky seemed troubled and night came quickly over the evening land and small gray birds flew crying softly after the fled sun. He chucked up the horse. He passed and so passed all into the problematical destruction of darkness. — Cormac McCarthy

I never saw true beauty till this night. — Lisa Kessler

I wanted to write "stay"
on your sides, surround
your bed with oceans
of salt.
I hope he folds you
into a fox, loves you
like a splintered arrow,
brandishes the kill
of your lips.
May the bouquet
of your hips wither.
May the wolves
forget your name. — J. Bradley

One beast and only one howls in the woods by night. — Angela Carter

Monks congregate like dogs in a kennel,
From contact with their superiors they acquire knowledge,
Is one the course of the wind, is one the water of the sea?
Is one the spark of the fire, of unrestrainable tumult?
Monks congregate like wolves,
From contact with their superiors they acquire knowledge.
They know not when the deep night and dawn divide.
Nor what is the course of the wind, or who agitates it,
In what place it dies away, on what land it roars. — Taliesin

Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night. — George R R Martin

The stories themselves aren't what moves him now ... What moves him are the shadowy people behind the stories, the workers weary from their days, gathering at night in front of a comforting bit of fire ... The world then was no less terrifying than it is now, with our nightmares of bombs and disease and technological warfare. Anything held the ability to set of fear ... a nail dropped in a the hay, wolves circling at the edge of the woods ... — Lauren Groff

Her eyes were liquid silver as they narrowed at him, swirling with as many mysteries as the stars in the night sky. "I want a family," she murmured. "And I'll do what I must to get it."
The naked, aching honesty in her voice pierced him with a poisoned arrow, and he could feel the toxins spreading through his blood. Soon he would be completely paralyzed, a victim of the opposing forces now quarreling inside him like two wolves fighting for dominance. The two strongest emotions known to man.
He took in a deep breath, the scent of her honey soap and the lavender water evading his senses with the subtlety of a Roman legion. — Kerrigan Byrne

Narrow Escape On The Run Dangerous Factor The Night Wolves Banished Hour Forbidden City The Eye Of The Zombiebrine Bite To The End What Other Items Do Customers Buy After Viewing This Item? Narrow — Ryan Johnson

I have heard people say that men and the Fae are as different as dogs and wolves. While this is an easy analogy, it is far from true. Wolves and dogs are only separated by a minor shade of blood. Both howl at night. If beaten, both will bite.
No. Our people and theirs are as different as water and alcohol. In equal glasses they look the same. Both liquid. Both clear. Both wet, after a fashion. But one will burn, the other will not. This has nothing to do with temperament or timing. These two things are profoundly, fundamentally not the same.
The same is true with humans and the Fae. We forget it at our peril. — Patrick Rothfuss

When I sleep I turn into a wolf. Bran turned his face away and looked back out into the night. Do wolves dreams? — George R R Martin