O.R. Melling

Life isn't as magical here, and you're not the only one who feels like you don't belong, or that it's better somewhere else. But there ARE things worth living for. And the best part is you never know what's going to happen next.

To run with the wolf was to run in the shadows, the dark ray of life, survival and instinct. A fierceness that was both proud and lonely, a tearing, a howling, a hunger and thirst. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst. A strength that would die fighting, kicking, screaming, that wouldn't stop until the last breath had been wrung from its body. The will to take one's place in the world. To say 'I am here.' To say 'I am.

You can't really know what you are made of until you are tested.

By that which you kill are you bound.

Hope burns eternal in the human heart.

When you come to the edge of all that you know, you must believe one of two things: either there will be ground to stand on, or you will be given wings to fly.

It's a booley village," Ian told her. "The islanders used to take their animals into the hills for the summ. They'd camp out in these stone huts: men, women, and children. Everyone stayed up all night, sang, told stories, watched the stars. It must have been great craic." "How do you know this stuff?" she asked, admiringly. "I' a bloody genius." When she threw him a look, he grinned. " I also read it in the guidebook.

We considered behaving, but it's against our nature.

Love is patient. Love is kind. It bears all things. Love never fails. Love is as strong as death.

Where do we record the passing of wildlife? Who mourns the silent deaths of the small?