Love the horses, but don't ride on them! Riding the horses is a culture, a wrong culture!
They assembled from all sides, one after another, with arms and horses and all the panoply of war.
New rule: every fantasy author who doesn't treat horses like tireless hairy motorcycles automatically gets a Hugo.
It definitely could have been a horror story [Valley of Violence], oh my God, if the dog was impossible. So could the horses.
If economists wished to study the horse, they wouldn’t go and look at horses. They’d sit in their studies and say to themselves, ‘What would I do if I were a horse?’
So, I have my own horse and two ponies. I grew up around horses, and that really is my passion.
I was an only child. Growing up, we moved a lot, so I didn't have any close friends. So the animals I was around as a child - dogs, cats, and horses, and stuffed animals - became my family and friends. The only strong bonds I made as a child were with animals.
There whil'st the world prov'd prodigal of breath, the headless trunks lay prostrated in heaps; this field of funerals sacred unto death, did paint out horror in most hideous shapes: whil'st men unhors'd, horses unmast'red, stray'd, some call'd on those whom they most dearly lov'd, some rag'd, some groan'd, some sigh'd, roar'd, promis'd, pray'd, as blows, falls, faintness, pain, hope, anguish mov'd.
Yeah, I'd been around horses most of my life.
Eventually, I'll build a ranch and raise horses.
Songs can be Trojan horses, taking charged ideas and sneaking past the ego's defenses and into the open mind.
If you can't ride two horses at once, you shouldn't be in the circus.
If the virgin Mary had an abortion, I'd still be carried in a chariot of stampeding horses.
When the good times come around, they gallup in like wild horses. You just try to stay on them for as long as you can. And when they throw you offyou just wait in the shade until they come around again.
My two great loves are music and horses.
Wonderful things, horses. Never know what they will do, or won't do.
I grew up riding horses and on the beach and I never really wore makeup and my mom showed that as an example. She wore makeup, just in a beautiful, effortless way.
I ride my horses three to four times a week.
Men ran after and ate horses for four hundred thousand years. The outcome is more than a love of horse flesh; it is a runner's body.
Notwithstanding my grandmother's long and faithful service to her owners, not one of her children escaped the auction block. These God-breathing machines are no more, in the sight of their masters, than the cotton they plant, or the horses they tend.