I am the Turquoise Woman's Son, On top of Belted Mountain beautiful horses--slim like a weasel! My horse with a hoof like a striped agate, with his fetlock like a fine eagle plume: my horse whose legs are like quick lightning whose body is an eagle-plumed arrow: my horse whose tail is like a trailing black cloud. The Little Holy Wind blows through his hair. My horse with a mane made of short rainbows. My horse with ears made of round corn. My horse with eyes made of big starts. My horse with a head made of mixed waters. My horse with teeth made of white shell. The long rainbow is in his mouth for a bridle and with it I guide him.
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'In the bad old days reference to Blacks/women/Jews/others were in negative language which perpetuated poor treatment/ abuse/ exploitation of these people. Animals have suffered more from negative language stereotyping than all the others, and demeans them so constantly that they created an environment that allows all sorts of cruelties, many too horrendous to describe! An animal is 'it' instead of 'he' or 'she', this perpetuates our view of them as 'things' rather than individuals and is a major first step towards cutting them up for meat and leather, testing drugs/cosmetics/ household products on their bodies, and tearing off their coats for furs!!! Those who have pets are referred to as 'owners' rather than guardians/care givers/companions, reinforcing the idea that they are property much as slaves were considered property. Let's avoid these references: Dirty rat; filthy pig; acting like an ass; dirty dog; she's a bitch; ugly duckling; there's more than one way to skin a cat; behaving like an animal; making a monkey out of someone; killing 2 birds with one stone; working like a horse, you're chicken ... There are many more! Please think before uttering them and tell others. Thank you!'
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Before you kill something make sure you have something better to replace it with; something better than political opportunist slamming hate horse shit in the public park.
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TAKE CARE TO SELL YOUR HORSE BEFORE HE DIES THE ART OF LIFE IS PASSING LOSSES ON.
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When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down; Creep home, and take your place there, The spent and maimed amoung: God grant you find one face there, You loved when all was young.
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They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a prince as soon as his groom.
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Lo! he babbles of the fish-frys of long ago, Of the horse-races of long ago at Clary's Grove,...
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Body my house my horse my hound what will I do when you are fallen
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For the want of a nail, the shoe was lose; for the want of a shoe the horse was lose; and for the want of a horse the rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the enemy, all for the want of care about a horseshoe nail.
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History is a living horse laughing at a wooden horse. History is a wind blowing where it listeth. History is no sure thing to bet on. History is a box of tricks with a lost key. History is a labyrinth of doors with sliding panels, a book of ciphers with the code in a cave of the Saragossa sea. History says, if it pleases, Excuse me, I beg your pardon, it will never happen again if I can help it.
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All I say is, nobody has any business to go around looking like a horse and behaving as if it were all right. You don't catch horses going around looking like people, do you?
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I've often said there's nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse.
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A horse gallops with his lungs, Perseveres with his heart, And wins with his character
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Everything is being blown away; A little horse trots with a letter in its mouth, which is read with eagerness...
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But all is changed, that high horse riderless, Though mounted in that saddle Homer rode...
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And my poor fool is hanged! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life,...
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Marriage may often be a stormy lake, but celibacy is almost always a muddy horse pond.
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A fly, Sir, may sting a stately horse and make him wince; but, one is but an insect, and the other is a horse still.
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As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons...
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The day may come when the rest of animal creation may acquire those rights which could never have been withheld from them but by the hand of tyranny...a full-grown horse or dog is beyond comparison a more rational, as well as a more conversable animal, than an infant of a day, or a week or even a month old. But suppose the case were otherwise, what would it avail? The question is not, can they reason? Nor can they talk? But can they suffer? Why should the law refuse its protection to any sensitive being? The time will come when humanity will extend its mantle over everything which breathes.
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Civilization is drugs, alcohol, engines of war, prostitution, machines and machine slaves, low wages, bad food, bad taste, prisons, reformatories, lunatic asylums, divorce, perversion, brutal sports, suicides, infanticide, cinema, quackery, demagogy, strikes, lockouts, revolutions, putsches, colonization, electric chairs, guillotines, sabotage, floods, famine, disease, gangsters, money barons, horse racing, fashion shows, poodle dogs, chow dogs, Siamese cats, condoms, peccaries, syphilis, gonorrhea, insanity, neuroses, etc., etc.
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The spirited horse, which will try to win the race of its own accord, will run even faster if encouraged.
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My beautiful, my beautiful! That standest meekly by, with thy proudly-arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye!
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When any one of our relations was found to be a person of a very bad character, a troublesome guest, or one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house I ever took care to lend him a riding-coat, or a pair of boots, or sometimes a horse of small value, and I always had the satisfaction of finding he never came back to return them.
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A man in passion rides a horse that runs away with him.
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In sci-fi convention, life-forms that hadn't developed space travel were mere prehistory -- horse-shoe crabs of the cosmic scene -- and something of the humiliation of being stuck on a provincial planet in a galactic backwater has stayed with me ever since.
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Some people regard private enterprise as a predatory tiger to be shot. Others look on it as a cow they can milk. Not enough people see it as a healthy horse, pulling a sturdy wagon.
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A good horse should be seldom spurred.
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He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
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I am a feather on the bright sky I am the blue horse that runs in the plain I am the fish that rolls, shining, in the water
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