Jeez, Hazel," Percy said, "tell your horse to watch his language."Hazel tried not to laugh. "What did he say?""With the cussing removed? He said he can get us to the top."Frank looked incredulous. "I thought the horse couldn't fly!"This time Arion whinnied so angrily, even Hazel could guess he was cursing."Dude," Percy told the horse, "I've gotten suspended for saying less than that...

As I got closer to the fence, I held my shirt over my nose to block the smell. One stallion waded through the muck and whinnied angrily at me. He bared his teeth, which were pointed like a bear's.I tried to talk to him in my mind. I can do that with most horses.I'm going to clean your stables. Won't that be great?Come inside! Eat you! Tasty half-blood!Usually this gets me VIP treatment in the equestrian world, not this time.Poseidon can come in, too! We will eat you both! Seafood! The other horses chimed in as they waded through the field.

You saw my leg?""How can a man help what he sees?" he said. "And, if I could add, you possess a very fine leg.

A cavalryman's horse should be smarter than he is. But the horse must never be alowed to know this.

Crazy Horse dreamed and went into the world where there is nothing but the spirits of all things. That is the real world that is behind this one, and everything we see here is something like a shadow from that one.

He moved like a dancer, which is not surprising; a horse is a beautiful animal, but it is perhaps most remarkable because it moves as if it always hears music.

Passion is a Horse Given to Us to Discipline.

He thought he saw some horses, too, and a clown, but it was the faces of all those dead raptors that really bothered him. And maybe that clown a little bit.

A woman is at heart – a wild creature.But the creature itself … that depends on you. (His wild rabbit – your wild horse)

If you were called to gallop like the horse, never end up hopping like the frog. Rise up for greatness.

Speed doesn't matter, Concentration matters.

If you act like you've only got fifteen minutes, it will take all day. Act like you've got all day, it will take fifteen minutes.

A horse blanket, Mel?I remembered what I was wearing. 'It tore in half when Hrani tried washing it. She was going to mend it. This piece was too small for a horse, but it was just right fo

Gwynned lies two days westwards; still further south, the weregeld calls. Mayhap with All-Father Woden's favour, my deeds may yet inspire the skalds.

Why do you like show jumping?""... Beauty and excitement. The elements of trust, talent, training, love, and danger make show jumping a thrilling and aesthetic experience. It's really the ultimate test of two nervous systems--the kinetic transfer of the rider's muscle to the horse's muscle enables them to clear those jumps. And there's nothing like it--horse and rider forming an arc of beauty, efficiency, and power, like a double helix.""DNA,""Yes, DNA, the code to life.

If this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you have so many enemies.

A dead war horse is the single most expensive corpse you’ll ever see.

Being born in a stable does not make one a horse.

There is no more sagacious animal than the Icelandic horse. He is stopped by neither snow, nor storm, nor impassable roads, nor rocks, glaciers, or anything. He is courageous, sober, and surefooted. He never makes a false step, never shies. If there is a river or fjord to cross (and we shall meet with many) you will see him plunge in at once, just as if he were amphibious, and gain the opposite bank.

The horse is by Nature a very lazy animal whose idea of heaven is an enormous field of lush grass in which he can graze undisturbed until his belly is full, and after a pleasant doze can start filling himself up all over again.

Just before the men closed the tail gate on the float, she strained her head to see me and nodded her head so hard her blonde mane flew around her face—she looked like she was standing in a cloud of icing sugar. She uttered such a quiet neigh, it seemed only I heard it. She stared at me, and closed her eyes. Then she was gone.

Regweld is really a fine wizard," he continued, patting the shoulder again. "And his ideas for crossbreeding a horse and a frog are not without merit; never mind the explosion! Alchemy shops can be replaced!

He left his footprints burnt into my heart.

Alright. You hate me, I'm not too fond of you. It's mutual..." he muttered, walking hesitantly toward the stallion, hand outstretched, "I know you want to bite my hand off, but I swear I have no carrots, so you have no excuse. You want to throw me when I get on you...but if you even try, I will stab you.

All the carriages filed out in single file but in a fashion that seemed to mean that they were competing against each other. The only sound that could be heard for a while was the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the squeal and groan of the wheels against the road. Their hooves kicked up dirt, creating a storm of dust. Once the miniature storm and the sound of galloping horses subsided, I could only see one last person. He glared up at me and mouthed, “Next time.” Christopher dug his boots into Dawn’s muscled flank. She reared up and broke into a gallop through the sparse forest, heading for escape. The last trace of them was the particles of floating dust, bright like floating fire.

:No,: Wareska said at once, :we should go back.: She heard the horse laugh softly into her mind. :Wareska,: he said in amusement, :it is not like you to ever look back.::I look back when sense dictates.::It is hard for horses to look back. We don’t really have shoulders. I guess we look back over our butt?:

:The way to the Seaglass Stair will be long and arduous. There will be those who wish to stop you. They will kill you to keep you from succeeding.: :Why? That’s insane.: :As if insanity were some fabrication, some dark tale Hemfra told you one night when you were a child and refused to sleep. There will always be resistance to anything and everything, defying all logic, all natural sense of self-preservation. There will be those who wish for you to simply let the world fade away. It is the way of humans to be illogical for the sake of personal conviction and made up nonsense.:

:Do you trust me?: Wareska quietly linked.:To stay alive? No. You and the monster will get lost in riddles and philosophizing. Then you will make some grand, heroic gesture, poorly thought-out and overestimating your own strength, and when the creature has roasted you alive, I will be the one sweeping up the ashes – figuratively speaking, of course. Lest we forget, I do not have hands.:

Leliana advanced like a predator, hair lashing like a whip behind her. She abandoned the reins, riding the horse like they had merged into one charging centaur.She aroused images of deities on winged horses, of untamed forests in a windstorm, of legendary heroes of legendary quests. Burning desire shot straight to his loins at the sight of her.He ached for this woman, this goddess that streaked across his vision like a figment of his imagination, of his deepest desires and most guarded wishes. He could lose himself, mind, body, and soul, to a woman like that. Any sane man would.

Cowgirl Courage isn't the lack of fear, but the courage to take action in the face of fear.

You never want to look in a mirror," Lula said. "Men love mirrors. They look at themselves doing the deed and they see Rex the Wonder Horse. Women look at themselves and think they need to renew their membership at the gym.

- Daddy won’t buy me a new pony, so I’m gonna burn my old one so he will have to buy me a new one. - Will a horse do? I'm a horse. I'm a horse. Yes, of course. Yes, of course. (That's a little children's poem.).-Jarod Kintz and Stefan D

When you turn around, you'll see something I bet you've never seen before. If it takes your breath away, then you'll fit in nicely. If you don't feel anything, then maybe you don't belong here.

Stallions," Frank said, "they're fightin' over a girl. - DANIEL'S ESPERANZA

She can feel his blood, just beneath his skin; when he breathes, the air fills with smoke. He's like a dragon, ancient and fearless.

I'm fine," [her dad] said gently. "Back on the horse, Cath.''What's the horse?' she sighed, watching him pull on a South High hoodie. 'Jogging? Working too much?''Living,' he said, a little too loud. 'Life's the horse.

You can't become a decent horseman until you fall off and get up again, a good number of times. There's life in a nutshell.

To horses, everyday is a new day to survive. It's a natural instinct. They don't think of the past or the future, only the present. So in terms of trying to teach your horse or build a special bond, patience is the key to every stall's door.

As a leader, you have to disbelieve what you can’t do. It’s by so doing that you can believe in what you can do. It’s only by disbelieving that it can fly that the horse keeps galloping!

Yet when books have been read and reread, it boils down to the horse, his human companion, and what goes on between them.

A long shaft of light came down from the sun behind the clouds and fell on the rearing, striking horses so that Thowra was the glittering foam on a waterfall, was quicksilver held for a dazzling moment in the shape of a horse, but a horse that was never still

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.

She simply stared at me with such a loving expression on her face, I felt like I was her foal. Indah reached her head as far as she could around me, to press me to her. I melted. How could I live without this horse? I wrapped my arms around her neck and let my tears flow.

I fake fake to have a fake life. Does that make me a real horse? Buy now for $777, wooden saddle sold separately. Real horseshoes not included. Imaginary ones – neither.

They are like men: if bold, the better of scolding; if timid, the better of praise and flattery.

Men were like horses, she mused dreamily. All they needed was breaking in.

Once a month, for one evening, we are free to wear our natural skins. We are on the outside as we are internally.

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.

Had I crossed the passSupported by a stick,I would have spared myselfThe fall from the horse.

There were worse things than death.There would be a leap and a moment suspended, then a long hopeless curve to the rocks and river below. They would fall like leaves between clouds of swifts and then be washed away by the thundering rapids. Bramble clung to that thought. If their bodies washed away then there could be no identification, no danger of reprisals on her family. She hung on tighter.The roan's hindquarters bunched under her and they were in the air. It was like she had imagined: the leap, and then the moment suspended in air that seemed to last forever.Below her the swifts boiled up through the river mist, swerving and swooping, while she and the roan seemed to stay frozen above them. Bramble felt, like a rush of air, the presence of the gods surround her. The shock made her lose her balance and begin to slide sideways.She felt herself falling. With an impossible flick of both legs, the roan shrugged her back onto his shoulders. Then the long curve downward and she braced herself to see the cliffs rushing past as they fell.Time to die.Instead she felt a thumping jolt that flung her from the roan's back and tossed her among the rocks at the cliff's edge on the other side.On the other side.Her sight cleared, although the light still seemed dim. Her hearing came back a little. On the other side of the abyss a jumble of men and hounds were milling, shouting, astonished and very angry. "You can't do that!" one yelled. "It's impossible!""Well, he shagging did it!" another said. "Can't be impossible!""Head for the bridge!" Beck shouted. "We can still get him! I want that horse!

The fact that she was still alive felt wrong, out of balance. She didn't feel special, or protected, or gods-bound. She thought the gods had acted to protect the roan, and she had just been along for the ride. It was the roan who was special, not she.I should be dead, she thought. If she was dead, then all would have been settled. The warlord's men would have been satisfied to see her body swept away, the roan would have been safe from Beck's whip, the ghost of tyhe man she had killed could have gone to his rest. There was a rounding off - a justice - in her death. But alive, no one was satisfied and no one was safe.

Thank you. That was the most fun I've had in a very long time." The horse felt the same way. His life thus far had been such a rocky journey, short on joy and long on sorrow. But as Darling led him toward the shiny Ever After High stables, he knew in his heart that his story had changed."I hope you don't mind if, on occasion, I ask you to use your camouflage skills." She giggled. "Just so we can have a fun adventure now and then." He nodded. She stopped walking and looked into his eyes. "And, because you're the horse of a princess, I think you should have the perfect knightly name. I shall hereby call you Sir Gallopad." She kissed both his cheeks, then bowed.He smiled and bowed in return.And his story began.

The canter is a cure for every evil.

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

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.

She'll never be all the way tame, just the way she's made ... sorta like you, I imagine.

Maybe it's like Mac says. Ever man winds up with the horse that suits him.

We are one. Man, horse, lance, we are one beast of blood and wood and iron.

Some men can be good ' horse whisperers ' and many dogs can be wonderful ' man whisperers '.

He looks like a horse in a man costume!

As I got closer to the fence, I held my shirt over my nose to block the smell. One stallion waded through the muck and whinnied angrily at me. He bared his teeth, which were pointed like a bear's.I tried to talk to him in my mind. I can do that with most h

Naturalists tell of a noble race of horses that instinctively open a vein with their teeth, when heated and exhausted by a long course, in order to breathe more freely. I am often tempted to open a vein, to procure for myself everlasting liberty. Cento volte ho impugnato una lama per conficcarmela nel cuore. Si dice di una nobile razza i cavalli,che quando si sentono accaldati e affaticati, si aprono istintivamente una vena, per respirare più liberamente. Spesso anche io vorrei aprirmi una vena che mi desse libertà eterna.

Roger left the cricket stumps and they went into the drawing room. Grandpapa, at the first suggestion of reading aloud, had disappeared, taking Patch with him. Grandmama had cleared away the tea. She found her spectacles and the book. It was Black Beauty. Grandmama kept no modern children's books, and this made common ground for the three of them. She read the terrible chapter where the stable lad lets Beauty get overheated and gives him a cold drink and does not put on his blanket. The story was suited to the day. Even Roger listened entranced. And Deborah, watching her grandmother's calm face and hearing her careful voice reading the sentences, thought how strange it was that Grandmama could turn herself into Beauty with such ease. She was a horse, suffering there with pneumonia in the stable, being saved by the wise coachman.After the reading, cricket was anticlimax, but Deborah must keep her bargain. She kept thinking of Black Beauty writing the book. It showed how good the story was, Grandmama said, because no child had ever yet questioned the practical side of it, or posed the picture of a horse with a pen in its hoof."A modern horse would have a typewriter," thought Deborah, and she began to bowl to Roger, smiling to herself as she did so because of the twentieth-century Beauty clacking with both hoofs at a machine. ("The Pool")

A closed book will lie there like a dead horse. But an open book will kick, buck, and bolt through perceived adventures like a wild and free stallion. So hold on.

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.

Legends of the Silver Stallion had been told for years now, whenever mountain stockmen met round the campfires or on the winding hill tracks. Songs were sung about him to the cattle and both songs and tales had become even stranger since his supposed death when he vanished through the wind and the night over a great cliff. Tales kept cropping up of a ghost horse seen, or imagined, roaming over the mountains at night, of stockmen waking in a hut at midnight, hearing the tremendous stallion’s cry which could only be Thowra’s

A few fly bites cannot stop a spirited horse.

They've never known a time when people drank rain water because it was pure, or could eat snow, or swim in any river or brook. The last time I drove to Washington the traffic was so bad that I could have made better time with a horse.

The pony is mad. She can go from a relaxed walk to a flat out gallop in seconds if something spooks her, and she won’t stop until she practically crashes into something. I’ve seen her buck, rear and spin around in circles. She’s completely unpredictable and I don’t even trust her on the ground. As far as I’m concerned, Alec’s welcome to her, and he relishes the challenge. For some reason, he loves that pony most of all. Perhaps it’s because no-one else would give her a chance, that they’d written her off as crazy, mean, dangerous. Alec admires her independent spirit, I think, and maybe he likes that she still has that strength of spirit, that she still challenges him every time he rides her. He can’t completely dominate her, and he doesn’t try. He wants a partnership with her. And slowly, slowly, his father is taking that away from him, bullying the mare and his son at the same time, seeking to fit them into the same mould, the only one he knows. The strong succeed while the weak fall behind.

Horses get anxious when their expectations are not met.

You can kiss me if you like," she said.Alex let go of her and turned away. "Thanks, Fiona," he said. "But frankly I'd prefer to kiss the horse.

For God took a handful of blizzard snow, blew on it and created the horse.

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.

Whats the difference between a king and his horse?I dont mean some kiddy shit like one has 4 legs and the other has 2, or ones a person and ones an animal. If their form, ability, and power is exactly the same, then why is it one becomes the king and controls the battle and the other one becomes the horse and carries the king? There's only one answer...INSTINCT!!!

The carriage could only clop along at about ten miles per hour, which only accentuated Imogene’s excitement. She urged it onward: "Fly, horse, fly!

Time will come and riding horses will be seen by the whole society as a severe animal rights violation!

The horse does of two things. He does what he thinks he's supposed to do, or he does what he thinks he needs to do to survive.

I whisper like the sea in the horse's ear.

In every four there is one the slowest, and one the swiftest; and while the race is always to the slowest, the trouble is always with the swiftest.

Who ever thought to put the word "hero" in heroin?

This is Doctor Norton. Who's calling?""Step N’Wolfe- the owner of the Emerald Cascade Ranch on Green Valley Road. I have a horse in labor and the baby's already coming out of the horse's ass.""You should of called sooner.

Just then, down through the last glimmer of twilight, stepping high and free, like a cloud, a moth, a ghost in the shape of a horse — came the Silver Stallion. Wild, beautiful, and free as the wind he came, from one kingdom to another, Thowra

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.

In the sea, Corr’s clumsiness will disappear, his weight cradled by the saltwater. I don’t want to say good-bye. I blink to clear my vision and reach up. I pull off his halter. The ocean is his love and now, finally, he’ll have it. I back out of the surf. There’s a thin, long wail. Corr takes a labored step away from the November sea. And another. He is slow, and the sea sings to us both, but he returns to me.

No mortal ear could have heard the kelpie passing through the night, for the great black hooves of it were as soundless in their stride as feathers falling.

An English man-at-arms had his helmet split open and his skull with it, so that he rode wavering from the fight, blood pouring down his mail coat. His horse stopped a few paces from the turmoil and the man-at-arms slowly, so slowly, bent forward and then slumped down from his saddle. One foot was trapped in a stirrup as he died but his horse did not seem to notice. It just went on cropping the grass.

I’d looked around my room at the ribbons and sashes and rosettes hanging from the walls, at the photos of my ponies clearing the highest fences with me crouched in the saddle, a look of utter determination on my face. I’d made myself look hard at the pictures, at my legs swinging backwards over the fences, at my body lying low over my pony’s neck, my hands grasping at the reins as I turned them in mid-air. At the way that Teddy’s eyes were bulging as I pulled him around a tight turn, at the way the veins popped out on Buck’s lathered neck, at Springbok’s open mouth, dripping with foam. I’d looked hard at them all, and I hadn’t liked what I’d seen.

There is no better place to heal a broken heart than on the back of a horse.

Once Errol righted himself into some semblance of horsemanship, they set off at an easy canter. That is, the other horses set off at a canter, while Errol's horse settled into a teeth-shattering trot. After a hundred paces he could feel Horace's backbone through the saddle. The other riders pulled ahead without a backward glance, leaving him to his four-footed torture.

...it wasn't for the love of a man that she took those chances, but for the love of a horse.

We are horse folk, and that means more than we think it does.