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Predator And Prey Quotes

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Predator And Prey Quotes

“She could imagine how it would be. That was the worst part. The suggestive taunts that made her feel clumsy and hyper-vigilant, the soft touches that could spring like a trap—they painted a very vivid picture of what it would be like to fuck him, yes. He would not be nice or gentle, but he would be good, and he would gore her heart like any other trophy in this place just as soon as he was done playing with it.”

“Deirdre’s consciousness flooded with unbidden images. Her foot on a man’s throat; her gun against a man’s head; her hand wrapped around power; her seat atop a throne of yellowed bone, a kingdom spread out below her in bloodstained wasteland. In return: offerings, worship. Worship: apes eating their own young, faces smeared in meatjelly. Worship: jackbooted soldiers marching over corpse-strewn battlefields. Worship: a father staring at the severed hands and feet of his own child. Inside her gut, an instinctive gospel heaved itself into her diaphragm. The scripture said there were two kinds of people in the world: predators and prey. All other truths were secondary. Deirdre could be a predator in exchange for worship. If not…”

“An exceptional Sensei has traits such as patience and integrity. Otherwise, natural fighting ability, cruelty and aggressive behavior may be observed in most animal predators.”

“Infants never learn to soothe themselves to sleep. They learn, abandoned in seclusion, that no matter the volume of their despondence, no matter the force of their tears, when they are alone and frightened, no-one will ever come to their rescue. Infants do not soothe themselves. They merely surrender. And it is caged in their cribs where the infants learn, in the face of their demons, to remain silent and submitting.”

“He started for the door, thinking of crimson velvet and burning eyes- and a woman's face swam into view. Ah. A quarry. A victim of his plots and of his villainy. He diverted his course, intercepting the woman. She was on the arm of an older man, her father. Val swept her an abrupt bow. "Miss Royle. Sir." Hippolyta Royle was the only daughter of Sir George Royle, who had gone to the East Indies to make his fortune and had done quite a good job indeed. The result was that Miss Royle had a dowry with few rivals in England. "Your Grace." The lady's face, oval and proud and naturally olive-complexioned, paled at the sight of him. Actually, he was rather used to that sort of reaction to his sudden appearance. Blackmailer, and all. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, peering over her knuckles. Her fingers were trembling. "Might I have the pleasure of this next dance, Miss Royle?" Oh, she wanted to deny him, he could tell. Her full berry-red lips were pressed together, her dark brows gathered. The lady did not look entirely happy. A state of affairs that didn't escape her father. "My dear?" She patted the elderly man's hand. "It's nothing, Papa. It's just so hot in here." "Then perhaps if we venture close to the windows-" "Oh, but I insist on a turn on the floor," Val purred, his pulse racing, his nostrils flared. If she darted for cover he'd spring and sink his teeth into her. She was prey- his prey, and he'd not let her go. She was a prize and he'd parade her before all.”

“And for the partridge there was the sun suddenly shut out, the foul flailing blackness spreading wings above, the roar ceasing, the blazing knives driving in, the terrible white face descending – hooked and masked and horned and staring-eyed. And then the back-breaking agony beginning, and snow scattering from scuffling feet, and snow filling the bill’s wide silent scream, till the merciful needle of the hawk’s beak notched in the straining neck and jerked the shuddering life away. And for the hawk, resting now on the soft flaccid bulk of his prey, there was the rip and tear of choking feathers, and hot blood dripping from the hook of the beak, and rage dying slowly to a small hard core within. And for the watcher, sheltered for centuries from such hunger and such rage, such agony and such fear, there is the memory of that sabring fall from the sky, and the vicarious joy of the guiltless hunter who kills only through his familiar, and wills him to be fed.”