Best 159 of Horses quotes - MyQuotes
Want to know a secret?" "Yeah!" His smile grew big and broad. "I don't know how to saddle a horse either. And I've never even ridden on one before." His eyes grew wide as the moon. "Jase!" he bellowed, spinning toward his brother."She's never ridden a horse before!" Well, there went my secret.
When the striped pole slips by I slide low in the saddle and give Kali room to go. One moment she's bottled up, and the next she's a stream of copper, her chestnut mane smacking me hard in the face while her strides lengthen and everything becomes a droning rumble of hooves and wind.
O, lente, lente currite noctis equi!
One of the things about writing that inspires--and impresses me, is the music words can make. And, like music, the spaces between the notes can mean as much as the notes themselves. -- The Jesus Horse
Shattered thoughts cut through her mind like a chain lightning that zapped her heart, knotted her stomach and riveted her feet to the earth.
I,believe, as do so many of my fellow Americans, that the wild horse is an irreplaceable national treasure. It would be a tragic mistake to allow this noble creature to disappear from our western landscape.” – Robert Redford
I'm bouncing up and down next to Beck, and his arm is around my waist because it's second nature to reach out and grab something during a race. To grab it and hold on, or shake it, or just feel that it's there and you can steady yourself against it to bring yourself back to earth when the race is done.
What kind of a horse?" "A miraculous kind of horse
Mehmet Murat Ildan
Time will come and riding horses will be seen by the whole society as a severe animal rights violation!
Jodi Lynn Anderson
Look," Peter said. To the north was a series of vast grassy plains, and there, just looking like specks at first, was a herd of horses, a species that in Neverland had never been tamed. They were beautiful, flashes of brown and black and tan, their coats gleaming. There was no reason for them to be running that Tiger Lily could see. It was likely that they just loved to run. "That's what I want my life to be," Peter said, staring down at the horses. Tiger Lily sank against him and watched the herd, and thought that was what she wanted too.
No matter what, my chest always tightens up before a race. A rush of adrenaline spikes all the way down my spine, and it's like I'm right there. Right on top of Kali, squeezed in that metal stall, looking out at the dirt with my heart in my throat. The starter opens the gates, and the bell rings.
He looked back at Keegan and waved his hand dismissively. “We shall meet again, young Keegan. Though not as soon as you think.” He turned away and again began to shuffle down the street. “However, it will be sooner than you would like!” And with those final words, he continued to chuckle to himself until he disappeared into the darkness of the tiny street, leaving Keegan and Ardor standing alone in the middle of the tiny town square.
Horses change lives. They give out young people confidence and self-esteem. They provide peace and tranquility to troubled souls, they give us hope.
I had no time for patience. It was a dull, slow-witted thing, so foreign to me that I couldn’t even figure out what it was that people did while they were being patient. You know? Patience isn’t even a verb.
As soon as I entered the house, my wife took me in her arms, and kissed me; at which, having not been used to the touch of that odious animal for so many years, I fell into a swoon for almost an hour. At the time I am writing, it is five years since my last return to England. During the first year, I could not endure my wife or children in my presence; the very smell of them was intolerable; much less could I suffer them to eat in the same room. To this hour they dare not presume to touch my bread, or drink out of the same cup, neither was I ever able to let one of them take me by the hand. The first money I laid out was to buy two young stone-horses, which I keep in a good stable; and next to them, the groom is my greatest favourite, for I feel my spirits revived by the smell he contracts in the stable. My horses understand me tolerably well; I converse with them at least four hours every day. They are strangers to bridle or saddle; they live in great amity with me and friendship to each other.
Chance dug deep into the dirt, his front end rising like a speed boat accelerating through water. I grabbed the saddle horn, surprised by his enthusiasm, but I was just as anxious to run as he was. I gave him the reins to go.
How many humans over thousands of years have stood thus with their horses, seeing in them the lines of universal perfection, the majesty of grace and power, feeling stronger and more beautiful themselves for their contact with the magical power of such a steed? Such is the lure of the horse. In a world in which grace is neither synonymous nor usually compatible with power, the horse has remained an ancient symbol of strength and elegance, an icon of a majestic essence that exists far outside mere human beings. Because of the space that lies between us — only the cruelest amongst us ever truly conquers a horse — there is magic. “ — Margot Page
She'll never be all the way tame, just the way she's made ... sorta like you, I imagine." - Cowboy McKennon Kelly ponders Cowgirl in Training Devon Brooke
If the truth is that you’ll never be a world-class rider on a world-class horse, then why not do life-changing work? Ride a rescue.
The cracks grew over him like vines, faster and faster. At first he bucked, whinnying metallic screeches. Then he gradually stilled, looking up at me with frightened glass eyes. He was growing. New, molten glass leeched out between his fissures, cooled and hardened only to crack again and make room for more liquid glass. The gears inside him moaned and creaked, and metal filings gathered at the base of his transparent stomach, only to fly up again and form more joints and chains and gears. Black smoke poured from his nostrils. Soon he was the size of a large dog, then a man, and still he grew and grew until he towered over my bed, as big as any plow horse I’d ever seen. Glass dripped down his flanks like sweat, a few rivulets still glowing with molten heat.
...pero no era sólo que rayara el alba, sino que el silencio también se había roto. A lejos, tenue y misterioso, se presentía el ruido del mar.
You taste better than bacon.
If there really is a definable 6th sense, it would be the natural connection and the ability of communication between man and animal
Before he left Rome, Marcus had been in a fair way to becoming a charioteer, in Cradoc's sense of the word, and now desire woke in him, not to possess this team, for he was not one of those who much be able to say "Mine" before they can truly enjoy a thing, but to have them out and harnessed; to feel the vibrating chariot floor under him, and the spread reins quick with life in his hands, and these lovely, fiery little creatures in the traces, his will and theirs at one.
Here’s the secret: never give up. Get a tortoise tattoo if you need to, but just stick it out, slowly and patiently, because consistency is the greatest kindness a horse will ever know.
You can judge me all you want, but it's just ridiculous coz we're both part of the same universe. Let's just ride the horses into the meadow and let them roll in the delightful grass.
The fleabitten grey mare's short legs are slightly over at the knee, she has a Roman nose and a neck of solid muscle well-practiced at pulling her rider out of the saddle. Her head is up and a layer of sweat darkens her pale shoulders, but Alec’s holding his reins tight and he’s maintaining control. All the riders who have gone before on beautifully turned out, well-schooled ponies were merely passengers as their ponies jumped. Alec has harnessed the raw talent of his mare, her power barely held in check as the bell rings and he canters her around towards the first jump. Jess strains against the martingale as she charges towards the first fence and with one strong push off her hocks, flies over the jump with her knees tucked into her chest.
Por el este, donde estaba el mar y por donde habría de salir el sol, la luz se acercaba con sigilo tratando de internarse en el bosque como una neblina, y a medida que aumentaba la claridad lo hacía también el ruido del mar. De pronto, la luz pareció tomar forma. Dentro de ella había sombras que se movían, constituidas por otra luz aún más brillante. Eran cientos de caballos blancos al galope, con largas y sueltas crines y elegantes cuellos curvados como los de los caballos de ajedrez que había en la sala de estar. Sus cuerpos, que avanzaban a la velocidad de la luz, estaban hechos de una materia más etérea que del arco iris-
A horsefly can't do a horse much damage, but it can drive it wild anyway.
Do you want to go make friends with it first? Dawn asked. Matthew,give Emily the snacks. Collins swallowed, looking alarmed. Um...what do you mean? Dawn smiled at him. So we can give them to the horse! The carrot sticks? Oh, Collins said, after a pause. You see, you should have told me we were bringing snacks for the horse. I thought they were for us. My bad. Wait, you ate all of them? Dawn asked, taking her canvas bag back from Collins peering inside. The apple too? And where are the sugar cubes? You're telling me we brought the sugar for a horse? Collins asked,incredulous. What does a horse need sugar for? I can't believe you just ate raw sugar cubes, Dawn said, shaking her head. They're sugar cubes! Collins said, his voice rising. What else are you supposed to do with them? And since when do horses get snacks?
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride" Saskatchewan Farmer Saying.
It’s a beautiful morning that’s promising to be stinking hot by the afternoon. We ride the ponies down to the warm-up ring, surrounded by horses and ponies of all shapes and sizes, Alec calling out greetings to people he knows. I love everything about the atmosphere of a horse show. The smell of crushed grass, the drum of hoofbeats across the ground, the clatter of the poles coming down, the scattered applause from spectators.
Il pastore augurò Buon Natale, il coro riprese a cantare e l’organo a suonare. Fu in quel momento che Maggie sentì che lui era vicino. Si girò appena e lo vide. Se ne stava in piedi nel corridoio centrale, a qualche passo da lei, lo Stetson fra le mani, un’espressione indecifrabile sul volto. Il sangue prese a correrle troppo veloce nelle vene e, per quanto faticasse ad ammetterlo, si sentì così felice che un sorriso le illuminò il volto, come se lui fosse tornato a casa dopo un lungo viaggio. Già, quale casa? Mitch, invece, rimase di pietra, come se la chiamata di Maggie non fosse che un’altra scocciatura da risolvere. Il sorriso si spense poco per volta sulle labbra di Maggie e gli occhi, prima ridenti, si strinsero in uno sguardo interrogativo. Se il cowboy preferiva che fra loro ci fosse il gelo, che gelo fosse. Non era obbligata a sorridergli, in fondo, né a far conversazione. Lo avrebbe solo ringraziato per il passaggio e poi, estranei come prima. Mitch le fece cenno con la testa di seguirla e, senza neppure aspettarla, ruotò su se stesso e si incamminò verso l’uscita del tempio. Maggie sentì il suo amor proprio reagire all’atteggiamento scostante di Mitch, ma decise di fingere un’indifferenza e una calma che non provava; si prese il tempo necessario per ringraziare i signori Curtis e per salutare le altre persone che, come lei, erano in fila verso l’uscita.
Typically, in politics, more than one horse is owned and managed by the same team in an election. There's always and extra candidate who will slightly mimic the views of their team's opposing horse, to cancel out that person by stealing their votes just so the main horse can win. Elections are puppet shows. Regardless of their rainbow coats and many smiles, the agenda is one and the same.
D’un tempérament courageux, prompt au galop, l’alezan brûlé au front étoilé n’était pas à son égard un simple cheval parmi d’autres. Ils entretenaient une amitié riche et complexe, révélatrice d’identité et de caractère particulier. C’est alors qu’il passait la brosse dure sur la robe du cheval que l’idée lui vint. Il se rappela avoir entendu quelquefois le Haut Chevalier appeler son noir rouanné Courroux ; Gurœv nommait sobrement son destrier à la robe gris souris Plume et Kardys le forestier appelait son chien Noiraud. Caressant de la main le front de l’équidé, Trys lui murmura : - Si je t’appelais Égide, d’accord ? Croisant son regard, il sembla à Trys que les yeux de l’hongre pétillaient de joie. Les oreilles dressées, naseaux frémissants, Égide poussa doucement son museau contre l’épaule de Trys en signe d’assentiment.
A stupid mule is still smarter than a good horse or a bad man.
She had streaked blonde hair, long and straight, parted in the middle framing high cheek bones, an aquiline nose and beautiful deep blue eyes. She was young, around 30, tall and lithe with a good body, athletic, not skinny. She wore a sleeveless black dress that exposed her toned arms and shoulders, indicating regular workouts or yoga. There was a hint of vein running the length of her lean muscle. This girl stood out like an arabian in a corral full of draft horses.
I had a cup of tea, thought about my day and mostly about the horse whom, though I'd only known him a short time, I called my friend. I have few friends and am glad to have a horse for a friend. After the meal I smoked a cigarette and mused on the luxury it would be to go out, instead of talking to myself and boring myself to death with the same endless stories I'm forever telling myself. I am a very boring person, despite my enormous intelligence and distinguished appearance, and nobody knows this better than I. I've often told myself that if only I were given the opportunity, I'd perhaps become the centre of intellectual society. But by dint of talking to myself so much, I tend to repeat the same things all the time. But what can you expect? I'm a recluse.
They say dogs are man’s best friend,” he said. “But horses are man’s best slave.
I must purchase this eunuch from You," she said to Ptah-nem-hotep, Who smiled agreeably. "Are they not delightful?" He asked, and looked at the dark bodies of these five slaves with the same love I had seen my great-grandfather give to a team of matched horses or twin bulls, and indeed, since the slave wore nothing, one could see not only their plump and muscular haunches, but the shiny stump where their testicles had been and this gave them a nice resemblance to geldings.
My father worked on a farm - and his father. They both got very near to ninety, I believe. They were hardy old sorts. They never had a thing amiss with them. They worked and lived, and then kind of toppled over at the end. I should have been like them but my accident made the difference to me. The horses ran away with me on the farm. It was only two fields away from this house. It was a terrible accident; it jagged me all to pieces. The horses bolted in the field and ruined me. We were using the self-binder at the time. It was the second year I was in this village and thirty-eight year ago or more. I was at the top of the field whole and then at the bottom of the field, broken, and all in minutes. I should not have come here.
There the black horse stood - his feet planted firm on the ground, afraid to move. His coat was covered in sweat and a stark white rim lined his eyes. All three of us gawked at his sudden silence. The rattling metal gate was now the only sound.
I was drawn to horses as if they were magnets. It was in my blood. I must have inherited from my grandfather a genetic proclivity toward the equine species. Perhaps there's a quirk in the DNA that makes horse people different from everyone else, that instantly divides humanity into those who love horses and the others, who simply don't know.
We weren’t allies, but not being enemies was close enough for me.
A book about books is like a poem about poetry: Books are knowledge, paid for, all. Readers - horses in a stall. Stallions should always run. Lest they stale become, in turn. Running waters are most clear. In some books, you disappear – lose yourself, and track of time. How I wish that one was mine... Mine, to have, to write, to read... Mine, just like a flying steed. Mine, forever, - to improve. Would I then, of me, approve? I would not, I can't... myself. I'm but dust, swept off a shelf. Fly, can I, just 'til I'm settled, down, beside my flower, petalled.
I am not a Damsel In Distress who needs a Prince Charming. I am more of Rani Laxmi Bai who rides a Sturdy Horse.
She stopped outside her parents’ bedroom door. She heard her mother’s light whistling snores and her father working out a deal in his sleep, mumbling numbers that made no sense to Hannah. She snuck down the stairs like a burglar…
He moved quickly away from her through the ring, his whole body starting forward with the big animal in two-point and then -- the horse's legs extended before and behind her, a carousel pony but real, the immense thrust invisible to anyone but the boy on the creature's back -- he was rising, rising, rising. . . And aloft.
The horses suddenly began to neigh, protesting Against those who were drowning them in the ocean. The horses sank to the bottom, neighing, neighing. Until they had all gone down. That is all. Nevertheless, I pity them, Those bay horses, that never saw land again.
Nature is cheaper than therapy.