Show me your horse and I will tell you what you are.
Riding turns 'I wish' into 'I can'.
For what the horse does under compulsion, as Simon also observes, is done without understanding; and there is no beauty in it either, any more than if one should whip and spur a dancer.
If you have seen nothing but the beauty of their markings and limbs, their true beauty is hidden from you.
Every horse thinks its own pack heaviest.
(June 19, 1608 - August 16, 1661)
I’ve been meaning to get out and run some Portsmouth-area races, and I’m really glad I came today, ... I forced myself out of bed and came.
There was the Door to which I found no key; There was the Veil through which I might see
(March 31, 1809 - )
Writing eases my suffering... writing is my way of reaffirming my own existence.