When I bestride him, I soar. I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical that the pipe of Hermes.
He has galloped through young girls’ dreams, added richness to grown women’s lives, and served men in war and strife.
When I hear somebody talk about a horse or cow being stupid, I figure it’s a sure sign that the animal has outfoxed them.
The horse. Here is nobility without conceit, friendship without envy, beauty without vanity. A willing servant, yet never a slave.
Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby, to be picked up and laid down like a game of solitaire. It is a grand passion.
