Quotes About Feral

I welcome her feral nature.

Man is a bad animal....

He bared his teeth in a happy feral grin. My own personal psycho.

He gave me a feral grin. "Like what you see, dove?" "Nope." I hadn't had sex in eighteen months. Pardon me while I struggle with my hormone overload.

I got two older brothers and two younger sisters, and we grew up in the country, and we were a little feral. So as long as the car didn't end up in the rhubarb and you didn't get caught for doing whatever you were doing, you were fine.

Be a good animal, true to your animal instincts.

He looked feral, powerful, the very image of a Fallen One, his hair tumbling over his shoulders, his eyes wide and dark, yet shining with an inner light.

Strindberg himself was not at the greatest moment of mental stability in his life. He had no money, his first marriage to the wife he worshipped was crashing to disaster and they were living in a wing of a dilapidated castle overrun with peacocks and feral dogs and ruled over by a self-styled countess and her companion, a blackmailer, alchemist, magician and thief.

If humanity was still in the feral state, we wouldn't have any need for these huge conurbations that we have now, that have turned us into a different bunch all together. In the feral state we would be much more secure, much more familiar with each other, much more mentally well-balanced.

At the sound, XX rolls over and looks around with feral, instantly-alert eyes. He will, she imagines, never lose that habit of the palace slave.

The thing is, we all have a little animal in us, and if you ask us to, we can do a very good job of behaving like one.

William's eyes glowed like two amber coals. She met his gaze and flinched. No emotion reflected in the amber, only intelligence, cruel in a way the eyes of a hunting Mire cat were cruel. She saw no worry, no softness, no thoughts at all, only waiting. He seemed barely human now, not a man but some feral thing, knitted of darkness and biding his time for an opportunity to pounce.

A man's home is his refuge. I have no wish to share mine with a feral cat who spends all her time sharpening her claws and thinking of inventive ways to flay me when my guard slips.

Those with wild hearts love biglove fiercelylove with every fiberof their feral being.

Nothing but a little savage...

But the Wild is the Wild, and motherhood is motherhood, at all times fiercely protective whether in the Wild or out of it.

Wakens the ferine strain.

Most people have no reason to know how memory can turn rogue and feral, becoming a force of its own and one to be reckoned with. Losing a chunk of your memory is a tricky thing, a deep-sea quake triggering shifts and upheavals too far distant from the epicenter to be easily predictable.

Most people have no reason to know how memory can turn rogue and feral, becoming a force of its own and one to be reckoned with.

The final step into feral is murder. We stand between that and you. We say, when no one else will, There are rules here. There are limits. There are boundaries that don't move.

They're blind to a simple truth: complex minds can't develop on their own. If they could, feral children would be like any other. And minds don't grow the way weeds do, flourishing under indifferent attention; otherwise all children in orphanages would thrive. For a mind to even approach its full potential, it needs cultivation by other minds.

Sparrow launched the plum. It was close range, and hit Ruby on her collarbone. She said, "Ow!" though it hadn't really hurt. Rubbing at the place of impact, she glared at Sparrow. "Is that it, then? Have you spent your wrath?" "Yes," said Sparrow, dusting off her palms. "It was on-plum wrath." "How sad for Feral. He was only worth one plum. Won't he mope when we tell him.

When he faced her again, he had never looked to her so much like one of the Fair Folk. His eyes were full of feral amusement, a carelessness that spoke of a world where there was no human Law. He seemed to bring the wildness of Faerie into the room with him: a cold, sweet magic that was nevertheless a bitter at the roots. The storm calls you as it calls me, does it not? He held out a hand to her, half-beckoning, half-offering. "Why lie?" he said.

But the Wild is the Wild, and motherhood is motherhood, at all times fiercely protective whether in the Wild or out of it; and the time was to come when the she-wolf