Best 159 quotes in «horses quotes» category

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.

According to horses, a good friend is someone who listens, appreciates your company and teases you, but is protective at the same time.

A horseman of the old school, a gentleman who never forgot to dip down and stake you when he win. He was more ashamed to be stingy than to be broke, so as long as he had two dollars you had one . . .

A horse that loves and cares for a man was loved and cared for by a man!

A horsefly can't do a horse much damage, but it can drive it wild anyway.

A horse is as mighty as its rider.

Any real, beautiful thing in this world shouldn't be tamed or claimed or broken. It should be allowed to be, worked with, not against, appreciated. Don't be afraid of the wild she has left. It makes her special." - Cowboy McKennon Kelly to Cowgirl in Training Devon Brooke.

Any real, beautiful thing in this world shouldn't be tamed or claimed or broken. It should be allowed to be, worked with, not against, appreciated. Don't be afraid of the wild she has left. It makes her special.

All right, shadow-priest, you've been spying — on what? What state secrets have you learned watching me groom these horses?' 'Only that they hate you, Daru. Every time your back was turned, they got ready to nip you — only you always seemed to step away at precisely the right moment-' 'Yes, I did, since I knew what they were intending. Each time.' 'Is this pride I hear? That you outwitted two horses?

As my mom used to say,"If wishes were horses, we'd be up to our eyeballs in shit.

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.

A stupid mule is still smarter than a good horse or a bad man.

A Blessing Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass. And the eyes of those two Indian ponies Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the willows To welcome my friend and me. We step over the barbed wire into the pasture Where they have been grazing all day, alone. They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness That we have come. They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more, They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, For she has walked over to me And nuzzled my left hand. She is black and white, Her mane falls wild on her forehead, And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist. Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom.

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.

Bet you did not know that in Mexico they call a Palomino an Isabella. Or that George Washington's warhorse was an Arab named Magnolia. I sure as hell did not. Hey, Magnolia! Takes a mighty secure man to ride a horse into battle with a name like that; well, to ride a horse into battle at all.

Could I be jealous of the way he was touching my horse? Yep ... I was.

Do you give the horse his strength or clothe his neck with a flowing mane? Do you make him leap like a locust, striking terror with his proud snorting? He paws fiercely, rejoicing in his strength, and charges into the fray. He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; he does not shy away from the sword. The quiver rattles against his side, along with the flashing spear and lance. In frenzied excitement he eats up the ground; he cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds.

Dawn is breaking, sending pale fingers of cold light across the hills that surround the Harrisons’ farmyard. Jess is being difficult, rearing and trying to bolt away from the truck, and we’ve been at it for some time when Liam comes out of the house and sees our predicament. He marches across the yard, picks up a piece of cut-off hosepipe and walks up behind the pony. I see the look on Alec’s face as his dad approaches, and he’s not happy. Liam tells his son to “walk her up” and then cracks the mare around the rump with the piece of pipe when she plants her feet. The sound of the pipe hitting the pony echoes across the hills and rings in my ears. Jess starts to rear but earns another whack around the backside, so scrambles up the ramp and stands trembling in the truck. Alec quickly ties her up, his expression unreadable.

Don't cry for the horses That life has set free A million white horses Forever to be Don't cry for the horses Now in God's hands As they dance and they prance To a heavenly band They were ours as a gift But never to keep As they close their eyes Forever to sleep Their spirits unbound On silver wings they fly A million white horses Against the blue sky Look up into heaven You'll see them above The horses we lost The horses we loved Manes and tails flowing They Gallop through time They were never yours They were never mine Don't cry for the horses They will be back someday When our time has come They will show us the way

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?

Face it, friends. For this journey, roads are optional.

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.

Everything changes except human behavior and its consequences.

Every dog has its day. Some even bite.

First, if you’re fighting, you’ve lost already. Second, there’s no negotiating power in being right if it makes your horse wrong.

For a few heady weeks of the year the steppe in a binge throws out a wilderness of flowers that tangle your hooves and confuse your horse.

For a human to win, it is not necessary for a horse to lose. You should not have to take things away from a horse or break him in fragments in order to train him; rather you should add to the horse. The goal should be making, not breaking.

From horses we may learn not only about the horse itself but also about animals in general, indeed about ourselves and about life as a whole.

For the first time, they were seeing the dream beneath the flesh. Karla stared at the pointed ears that had come from the Dea al Mon, the hands with sheathed claws that had come from the Tigre, the hooves peeking out from beneath the black gown that could have come from the centaurs or the horses or the unicorns. Most of all, she stared at the tiny spiral horn. The living myth. Dreams made flesh. But, oh, had any of them really thought about who the dreamers had been? No wonder the kindred love her. No wonder we've all loved her. Karla quietly cleared her throat to ask the question she suddenly hoped wouldn't be answered. "Who is going to war with Terreille?" "I am," Witch said.

For those of you unfamiliar with barrel racing: a buzzer rings and a rider hangs on for dear life as a horse shoots off like a bat out of hell toward some big empty oil barrels placed strategically at one end of an arena and runs around them as fast as he can and then races back to the other end of the arena completely of his own free will while the rider tries not to fall off or cry because she thinks she broke her vagina and thank God the horse finally stopped and is that my pee? It's really fun.

Galloping is trust and honesty between horse and rider and pure, amazing energy.

Go anywhere in England where there are natural, wholesome, contented, and really nice English people; and what do you always find? That the stables are the real centre of the household.

Gisela. She was beautiful and easy to talk to. And unlike Rainhilda, she didn't prattle on and on about things Valten didn't care or know anything about. She talked about horses-a subject he was quite comfortable with. And he always thought a love of horses was sign of gentleness and good character.

Hard Wind Sister with iron hooves Together we shall travel steppes that no man nor mount has seen Courage will be my saddle And your bridle shall be my faith in you …

Hannah remained silent as they pulled out of the hospital’s parking lot. With a sinking feeling, Hannah realized she was going to have to endure the laughter and joy of Christmas all day. She knew she had to try and be pleasant for her parent’s and her friends’ sake, but in her mind there was a dark hole where she disappeared like Alice in Wonderland. She’d found that hole during rehab and went there whenever she needed to escape the pain.

Guilt added to Rachael’s grief. Swirled amongst it like a river of shame.

He left his footprints burnt into my heart.

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.

Have you ever really wanted to be able to do something, but you came across a roadblock of some kind? You have a difficult choice. I made that choice once and it changed my whole life, by giving me experiences I never would have had if I took the easy street and had not tried.

He left his hoofprints burnt into my heart

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.

Here I first mounted a little Highland steed; and if there had been many spectators, should have been somewhat ashamed of my figure in the march. The horses of the Islands, as of other barren countries, are very low: they are indeed musculous and strong, beyond what their size gives reason for expecting; but a bulky man upon one of their backs makes a very disproportionate appearance.

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.

He reclines in the hospital bed like a martyred king taking leave of his beloved kingdom, but all I see is a petulant, destructive child hiding in a dead man’s body.

Her armor appears fragile – a delicate shell of silk and perfume. Life's troubles seem to find each chink. But try to touch that smooth shield and you will see it crumble in your hands. As the dust dissipates, you find she is gone.

He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die - There was courage in his quick impatient tread; And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye, And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

He was thirty-six years old, and six foot three. He spoke English to people and French to cats, and Latin to the birds. He had once nearly killed himself trying to read and ride a horse at the same time.

Horses get anxious when their expectations are not met.

Horses don't speak, but they communicate through body language. If you look very closely, you'll find out your horse has been trying to talk to you every day.