A Quote by Stephenie Meyer

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" Jacob Black New Moon — © Stephenie Meyer
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" Jacob Black New Moon
Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf means who's afraid of the big bad wolf ... who's afraid of living life without false illusions.
I'm not dangerous at all I never hurt Grandpa or Sue or Billy. I love humans. And wolf-people like my Jacob."Renesmee dropped Edward's hand to reach back and pat Jacob's arm.
You weren't afraid of me when I was Wolf," he said. "Why are you afraid of Nathan?" "He's got big feet!" "What?" An insulted-sounding arrroooo came from the other side of the door, a reminder that Wolves also had big ears.
Tonight the sky was utterly black. Perhaps there was no moon tonight—a lunar eclipse, a new moon. A new moon. I shivered, though I wasn't cold.
What's that supposed to mean? A wolf's head on a stick. Big wolf barbecue tonight? Bring your own wolf?
Literature was not born the day when a boy crying "wolf, wolf" came running out of the Neanderthal valley with a big gray wolf at his heels; literature was born on the day when a boy came crying "wolf, wolf" and there was no wolf behind him.
Fear isn't so difficult to understand. After all, weren't we all frightened as children? Nothing has changed since Little Red Riding Hood faced the big bad wolf. What frightens us today is exactly the same sort of thing that frightened us yesterday. It's just a different wolf. This fright complex is rooted in every individual.
I'm not afraid of new things. I'm just afraid of feeling alone even when there's somebody else there. I'm afraid of feeling bad. Maybe that's selfish, but it's the way I feel.
"Hey Jacob!" I felt an unfamiliar surge of enthusiasm at his smile. I realized that I was pleased to see him. This knowledge surprised me. I smiled back, and something clicked silently into place, like two corresponding puzzle pieces. I'd forgotten how much I really liked Jacob Black.
She offered herself to the big, bad wolf and didn't scream when he took the first bite.
Omigod,' I said on a sudden flash of sleep-deprived insight. 'You're the big bad wolf.' There are some similarities.
I say, "go 'head Donald Trump bring it on" because this is the war to end all wars. No warmonger will live after this one jumps off. And the people that I'm looking at, they're no longer afraid of the big bad wolf. So you can bring your Mother Of All Bombs. You can bring everything you think you got to fight against God and the Original People of our planet but you will lose miserably.
During one new moon at perigee, I stood on high ground, watching salt ponds overflow, cover the beach, and meet the ocean. Because the moon was invisible, the water was black as it drowned the sand, and the event felt primal - which in fact it was, because it was nature.
Let us not be afraid of decreasing. It is like the moon, we see the moon increasing and decreasing, but it is always the moon.
Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood, you sure are looking good. You're everything a big bad wolf could want.
There was just one moon. That familiar, yellow, solitary moon. The same moon that silently floated over fields of pampas grass, the moon that rose--a gleaming, round saucer--over the calm surface of lakes, that tranquilly beamed down on the rooftops of fast-asleep houses. The same moon that brought the high tide to shore, that softly shone on the fur of animals and enveloped and protected travelers at night. The moon that, as a crescent, shaved slivers from the soul--or, as a new moon, silently bathed the earth in its own loneliness. THAT moon.
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