Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns? I have been changed to a hound with one red ear; I have been in the Path of Stones and the Wood of Thorns.
If you think fast food is hittin a deer att 65 miles per hr. . you might be a redneck
Obviously a deer on the fairway has seen you tee off before and knows that the safest place to be when you play is right down the middle.
If you depend on where the chestnuts are going to be, and where the deer are, you have to be attuned to the outside world.
Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. The nations hunt; all mock thee for a prey; They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay.
I've got some incredible fans actually - so loyal and they make me birthday cards and Christmas cards. I got this package of poems and artwork based around Jennifer Bofinger, media spokeswoman for the animal rights group People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, said despite the shabby treatment of deer just loves it!
I often have deer on my property and there's a fox and owls. You're not going to see that in the city.
An army of lions commanded by a deer will never be an army of lions.
I love to deer hunt and fish and drive down the back roads in my truck. All those things basically equal freedom to me - and not having to return that message or call from my record company or management. At some point, I need to recharge.
Obvious things like The Deer Hunter. After that happened, the scripts got better. Opportunities happened.
Where once stood the steadfast pines, great, beautiful, sweet, my hand touched raw, moist stumps. All about lay broken branches, like the antlers of stricken deer. The fragrant, piled-up sawdust swirled and tumbled about me. An unreasoning resentment flashed through me at the ruthless destruction of the beauty that I love.
The tragedy of a species becoming unfit for life by over-evolving one ability is not confined to humankind. Thus it is thought, for instance, that certain deer in paleontological times succumbed as they acquired overly-heavy horns. The mutations must be considered blind, they work, are thrown forth, without any contact of interest with their environment. In depressive states, the mind may be seen in the image of such an antler, in all its fantastic splendour pinning its bearer to the ground.
Wolves go after a wounded deer, it is the nature of the beast.
I love the idea of species fluidity, I guess, the sense of the maiden inherent in the swan or seal, the youth inherent in the bear or deer. After all, human beings are animals.
As the pen rises from the page between words, so the walker's feet rise and fall between paces, and as the deer continues to run as it bounds from the earth and the dolphin continues to swim even as it leaps again and again from the sea, so writing and wayfaring are continuous activities, a running stitch, a persistence of the same seam or stream.
A pine needle fell in the forest. The hawk saw it. The deer heard it. The white bear smelled it
Anything that suffers and dies instead of us is Christ; if they didn't kill birds and fish they would have killed us. The animals die that we may live, they are substitute people, hunters in the fall killing the deer, that is Christ also. And we eat them, out of cans or otherwise; we are eaters of death, dead Christ-flesh resurrecting inside us, granting us life. Canned Spam, canned Jesus, even the plants must be Christ.
Man is a distance runner as a consequence of hundreds of thousands of years of chasing antelopes, horses, elephants, wild cattle, and deer.
Hey, I'm a Catholic deer hunter, I am happy to be clinging to my guns and my religion.
My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.
