Quotes About Strength

You know what you've lost, sometimes, and there's no point in talking about it. You turn around and look at the ruins, and then you either sink down by the roadside and cry or you pick up your pack and lump on.

Oh, Ellie. You are still so slick. Patty lost as much as the rest of us. More. Here we are, and love each other, and links forged in shared fire. And Patty's got herself and the voices in her head.

Not trying to stare the Dragon in the eye seemed to ease her.

Mingan smiled and set Cathoair down, deceptively gentle. The Wolf leaned him against the wall, barely upright…and grabbed his chin in one hand, and the nape of his neck in the other.

Sly and sickways. I have to swallow my grief and my hope before it all spills down my face again: somehow she's not broken yet.

Whatever confidence came to her when she gripped a knife didn't serve her here.

Dry hands, hot, callused. Eyes dripping silver light, so it pooled and ran down the Wolf's creased cheeks like tears. But the look on his face wasn't sorrow.

Fighting the snare only deepens the wound. One must lie in wait, hoarding strength until the hunter returns.

The Mebd is unimpressed by suffering.

They stripped him only to the waist, and left his feet free when they bound him standing between two pillars, and not helplessly prone on some clammy altar.

For Leah. Yes. Because for her, I would crawl through fire.

Funny how Tristen's voice-nasal, a bit rough still though regaining its strength-had the power to comfort her.

They came down together, the old wolf in his kilt and dinner jacket leaning on the young one in his cedar-smelling tuxedo.

Somehow, Kit got the cup to his mouth. Perhaps even the steam was fortifying. It tasted of bitter earth and summer sun and the unshed tears still clogging his throat.

She was mannishly magnificent, tall and broad-shouldered, with her long stride and her mane of unrestrained mahogany-black curls. She wore boots, and the heels clapped on the rugs unrepentant as a horse's hooves.

Fyodor Stephanovich dominated the room with the careless ease that one would expect of a Prince among wolves.

Cathoair reached out with both hands, his last measure of strength, and yanked Mingan's body against his own, pressed his mouth down, broke both their lips between their teeth so the bright taste of blood flavored the kiss.

It takes more than blood and iron to wound me.

Swing hard; follow through to the other side of whatever you are swinging at. Zanya Farweather had been swinging at my soul.

Kit took a deep breath, and walked into the light.

I must not clutch my throat, I will not. And I will not give her Strifbjorn, even for that. Even for freedom. Not Strifbjorn. But perchance, anything else.

It seems poetic that the strength of our enemies be made to serve us.

Another small victory. Pile enough of them together and they became like bricks in the wall.

He steps forward, tossing his forelock about the root of his horn, and his beauty does not strangle me.