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Horses Quotes

Browse 195 quotes about Horses.

Horses Quotes

“Seating himself crosslegged on a bale of straw, he formed the image of a flame in his mind and fed emotion into it, hate, fear, everything, every scrap, until it seemed that he floated in emptiness. After years of practice, achieving ko'di, the oneness, needed less than a heartbeat. Thought and even his own body seemed distant, but in this state he was more aware than usual, becoming one with the bale beneath him, the stable, the scabbarded sword folded behind him. He could 'feel' the horses, cropping at their mangers, and flies buzzing in the corners. They were all part of him. Especially the sword. This time, though, it was only the emotionless void that he sought.”

EmotionsOnenessVoidStableStateHorsesSwordDistantEmotionlessScabbard
Book:New Spring
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“The estimable Twemlow, dressing himself in his lodgings over the stable-yard in Duke Street, Saint James’s, and hearing the horses at their toilette below, finds himself on the whole in a disadvantageous position as compared with the noble animals at livery. For whereas, on the one hand, he has no attendant to slap him soundingly and require him in gruff accents to come up and come over, still, on the other hand, he has no attendant at all; and the mild gentleman’s finger-joints and other joints working rustily in the morning, he could deem it agreeable even to be tied up by the countenance at his chamber-door, so he were there skilfully rubbed down and slushed and sluiced and polished and clothed, while himself taking merely a passive part in these trying transactions.”

LifeHumourHorses
Book:Our Mutual Friend
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“White caps or white horses. Take your pick. They are the same. They are nature's warning before beaches had flags. I had heard my uncle point them out. It sounded fanciful as the drawings beside poems about giants using pillows for clouds. . . . When my uncle said they were there and we wouldn't be going in his boat that day . . . I didn't understand. White horses, I thought, were my uncle's poetry. Better even than calling the swells on waves "white caps." Pilgrims and nurses wore caps. Who wanted to think of them? White horses were another matter. Brothers to unicorns. Galloping. Long haired and free. I ran into the sea.”

PoetryChildhoodHorsesMisunderstandingsBeaches
Book:American Girl: Memories That Made Me
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“I think I know more about you at age seven than you do," Henri teased. "Do you, now?" she asked, happy he couldn't see her blushing since she sat in front of him on their steed. "Yes," he said confidently. "I know you always preferred the colors blue and yellow to any other. You were excellent at hide-and-seek. You hated cold porridge, and my personal favorite- you named every horse in the royal stables and liked to put bows on them when allowed." She colored some more and burst out laughing. This she did not remember! "I did not! Did I?" Henri laughed, too. "Apparently you did, driving the royal seamstress crazy with your requests for ribbons and bows for the royal steeds.”

ChildhoodBowsHorsesRibbonsTeasingSnow WhitePrince Henrich
Book:Mirror, Mirror
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“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.”

HorsesHorseback RidingBarrel Racing
Book:Sounds Like Me: My Life (So Far) in Song
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“She had felt from the beginning that horses were easier to understand than people. They made their wishes clear. They bestowed their affection without conditions. They didn't love you for a time, then stop loving you for no apparent reason. Annis knew Bits loved her. She sometimes thought the two of them must be connected by an invisible ribbon of emotion, one that drew her to the stables every day, to be in his presence, to savor the warmth of his big body, to breathe in the peppery scent of his hide, to bask in the trust shining in his eyes. Mounted on his back, she became one with his power and speed and beauty. No one scolded her while she was seated high in the saddle. No one nagged about her clothes or her hair or her manners. Riding Bits set her free.”

FreeHorsesConnectednessHorseback Riding
Book:The Age of Witches
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“Working with horses is a lifelong journey of learning. Sometimes it is humbling, and at times overwhelming, but it is always worth the reward of experiencing the bonds we forge with these beautiful and intelligent animals.”

HorseHorsesHorse RacingHorseback Riding
Book:An Introduction to Horse Racing for New Equestrians: Understanding the Sport, Its History, and the Welfare of the Racehorse
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“Jimmy held on to the reins for dear life, and thought that a horse was about the most slippery creature to sit on that he had ever met. He slithered first one way and then another, and at last he slid off altogether and landed with a bump on the ground. Sticky Stanley and Lotta held on to one another and laughed till the tears ran down their faces. They thought it was the funniest sight in the world to see poor Jimmy slipping about on the solemn, cantering horse.”

LaughingReinsHorsesSlipperyFallingHumourousHorseback Riding
Book:Mr Galliano's Circus
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“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.”

FunnyHorseFantasy FictionHorsesHorseback Riding
Book:A Cast of Stones
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“I stood with my hands on the horses' necks, feeling the electricity of their thinking, the blood moving throughout their veins, and the history held neatly within the fabric of every organ of their equine anatomy, as if the body were a storage unit of memory. As I absorbed every nuance of the four-legged creatures, I touched my own stomach, lower back, liver, and spleen to see what the energies felt like. I compared one horse to another, then to myself, fascinated by the way each was so unique yet so the same.”

HorsesPsychicAnimal Communication
Book:Memoirs of the Bathtub Psychic - The True Story of a Clairvoyant and Her Dogs
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“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.”

WritingBookRunningPoetryReadingWaterFreedomBooksFlowerPoemForgivenessHorseRoseDisappearInvisibleDustPoemsStillnessApprovalOwnershipFlowersCleaningNothingRiverSweepingPetalsStaleLosing YourselfHorsesDisappearanceInvisibilityStillBotanyStallionsWatersOwnerPetalApproveStallionShelfStallPetalled
Book:Nothing is here...
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“Two towering beasts were brought to us. I do not say this lightly for I am the tallest man I know and Alexander isn't that much shorter than me. These great horses looked me squarely in the eye; which was something most people couldn't manage. They were rather terrifying to behold; made entirely of muscle and grit. "Yes, they're perfect." Alexander smiles and I wonder if he has lost his mind. He puts a hand to each of their large muzzles. Rather than destroy him, the two massive horses seem calmed by his presence.”

HeightTallHorsesHistoric FictionBig Horses
Book:From Out of Feldspar
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“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.”

YogaAffairBlondeHorsesArabianAdultryCorral
Author:Nick Hahn
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“Once, while at my uncle’s farm my father took me for a ride on my uncle’s buckboard. Not knowing any better, my father took the bridle off of the horse to give him a break. It seemed reasonable to me, but any farmer will tell you that’s not what he should have done. Thinking that he was free and then realizing that he wasn’t, the horse bolted, dragging the wagon down a path and then through a stone quarry where the buckboard was reduced to kindling wood. After my uncle found out what had happened, things were not quite the same for some time to come. Fortunately, the horse survived with only a few scratches but the buckboard was beyond repair and poor Pop never lived down this occurrence. I guess that he wasn’t much of an equestrian either.”

StorytellingHorsesCaptain Hank BrackerEquestrianBuckboard
Author:Captain Hank Bracker, "Seawater One"
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“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.”

HorsesRomanChariot
Book:The Eagle of the Ninth
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“Life recommenced. Dogs barked, cocks crew, smoke rose, men shouted, women clattered their milk pails. Soon figures moved upon the empty fields. Somewhere a plough was creaking. Garry turned turned his head towards the noise and searched the brown earth until he saw the team. Seagulls were crying after it, settling in the black furrow, rising again to wheel around the horses. As he watched, the sun reached the field. The wet new-turned furrow was touched to light as though a line of fire had run along it. The flanks of the horses gleamed. They tossed their manes, lifting their arched necks and bowing again to the pull: brown farm horses, white nosed, white-footed, stalwart and unhurrying as the earth they trampled or the man who held the share.”

MorningHorsesPloughingAberdeenshireSeagullsGarry Forbes
Book:The Weatherhouse
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“There was death at the beginning as there would be death again at its end. Though whether it was some fleeting shadow of this that passed across the girl’s dreams and woke her on that least likely of mornings she would never know. All she knew, when she opened her eyes, was that the world was somehow altered. The red glow of her alarm showed it was yet a half hour till the time she had set it to wake her and she lay quite still, not lifting her head, trying to configure the change. It was dark but not as dark as it should be. Across the bedroom, she could clearly make out the dull glint of her riding trophies on cluttered shelves and above them the looming faces of rock stars she had once thought she should care about. She listened. The silence that filled the house was different too, expectant, like the pause between the intake of breath and the uttering of words. Soon there would be the muted roar of the furnace coming alive in the basement and the old farmhouse floorboards would start their ritual creaking complaint. She slipped out from the bedclothes and went to the window. There was snow. The first fall of winter. And from the laterals of the fence up by the pond she could tell there must be almost a foot of it. With no deflecting wind, it was perfect and driftless, heaped in comical proportion on the branches of the six small cherry trees her father had planted last year. A single star shone in a wedge of deep blue above the woods. The girl looked down and saw a lace of frost had formed on the lower part of the window and she placed a finger on it, melting a small hole. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the thrill that this transformed world was for the moment entirely hers. And she turned and hurried to get dressed.”

LifeDeathYouthSnowTragicComing Of AgeHorsesAccidentAmputee
Book:The Horse Whisperer
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