Mare Quotes & Sayings

All day long the door of the sub-conscious remains just ajar; we slip through to the other side, and return again, as easily and secretly as a cat. — Walter De La Mare

Moving on was always the end plan.
New York,he remembered, was a fair distance away.It should be far enough. As for tonight, he was going to have a shot of whiskey in his tea to help smooth out the edges. Then by God, he was going to sleep if he had to bash himself over the head to accpmplish it.
And he wasn't going to give Keeley another thought.
The knock on the door had him cursing under his breath.Though she'd been doing well,his first worry was that the mare with bronchitis had taken a bad turn.He was already reaching for the boots he'd shed when he called out.
"Come in,it's open.Is it Lucy then?"
"No,it's Keeley." One brow lifted, she stood framed in the door. "But if you're expecting Lucy,I can go."
The boots dangled from his fingertips, and those fingertips had gone numb. "Lucy's a horse," he managed to say. "She doesn't often come knocking on my door. — Nora Roberts

He's hunting newbloods not to protect his throne but to hurt you. To find you. To make you come back to him." His fist clenches on his thigh. "Maven wants you more than anything else on this earth."
Would that Maven were here now, so I could rip out his horrible, haunting eyes. "Well, he can't have me." I realize the consequences of this, and so does Cal.
"Not even if it stops the killing? Not for the newbloods?"
Tears bite my eyes. "I won't go back. For anyone."
I expect his judgment, but instead he smiles and ducks his head. Ashamed of his own reaction, as I am of mine. — Victoria Aveyard

There was still an hour or two of daylight - even though clouds admitted only a greyish light upon the world, and his Uncle Timothy's house was by nature friendly to gloom.
("Out Of The Deep") — Walter De La Mare

My ignorance is becoming a theme." --Mare Barrow — Victoria Aveyard

You thought I was that type: that you could forget me, and that I'd plead and weep and throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare, or that I'd ask the sorcerers for some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift: my precious perfumed handkerchief. Damn you! I will not grant your cursed soul vicarious tears or a single glance. And I swear to you by the garden of the angels, I swear by the miracle-working ikon, and by the fire and smoke of our nights: I will never come back to you. — Anna Akhmatova

As soon as they're out of your sight, you are out of their mind. — Walter De La Mare

He ducked down under the wooden slats used to separate the stalls in the barn and crawled into the adjacent stall where he began rubbing the belly of the chestnut mare.
"Lay down, Lady. Please ... it's awful cold tonight. Please lay down."
The mare complied as she always did to the soothing tone in his voice. Drawing the blanket up tightly around him, he lay down beside the horse, moving in close to her side. He was careful to place his frozen feet near enough to her for warmth, but not so near that she'd protest.
"They had a real purty tree, Lady, with candles. Bet it didn't look as purty from the inside, though. Weren't no snow on the inside."
He snuggled in closer to the warm beast. "Merry Christmas, Lady," he whispered.
The mare nickered and moved her head in closer to the boy as he drifted off to sleep, the scent of hay and livestock surrounding them. — Lorraine Heath

Charlie Rose is too much of a ladies' man for my liking. He thinks a lot of himself with his bluer-than-blue eyes and charming smile. I'm sure in his day he's enchanted more women than we have horses."
Nell gave the mare a quick hug and kissed her neck. "Sorry again, Georgia." With a lighthearted chuckle, she stepped through the gate.
And came face-to-face with Charlie. — Caroline Fyffe

He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted. — Walter De La Mare

When the lion is wounded do not stroke its mare. — Matshona Dhliwayo

Horse

What does the horse give you
That I cannot give you?

I watch you when you are alone,
When you ride into the field behind the dairy,
Your hands buried in the mare's
Dark mane.

Then I know what lies behind your silence:
Scorn, hatred of me, of marriage. Still,
You want me to touch you; you cry out
As brides cry, but when I look at you I see
There are no children in your body.
Then what is there?

Nothing, I think. Only haste
To die before I die.

In a dream, I watched you ride the horse
Over the dry fields and then
Dismount: you two walked together;
In the dark, you had no shadows.
But I felt them coming toward me
Since at night they go anywhere,
They are their own masters.

Look at me. You think I don't understand?
What is the animal
If not passage out of this life? — Louise Gluck

From the pilot's seat, Cal glowers. "He's done enough." He watches me take the chair next to him, seething all the while. "You really want to storm a secret prison built for people like us?"
"Would you rather let Julian die?" No answer but for a low hiss. "That's what I thought. — Victoria Aveyard

With the Wit, one is aware of all the life that surrounds one. It was not just the warmth of the mare nearby that I sensed. I knew the scintillant forms of the myriad insects that populated the grasses, and felt even the shadowy life force of the great oak that lifted its limbs between the moon and me. Just up the hillside, a rabbit crouched motionless in the summer grasses. I felt its indistinct presence, not as a piece of life located in a certain place, but as one sometimes hears a single voice's note within a market's roar. But above all, I felt a physical kinship with all that lived in the world. I had a right to be here. I was as much a part of this summer night as the insects or the water purling past my feet. I think that old magic draws much of its strength from that acknowledgment: that we are a part of that world, no more, but certainly no less than the rabbit."
p. 129 — Robin Hobb

The night engulfed her with silence, and the horizon pulled her further into an alternate universe. Civilization left behind, she waited for him as the boat made its way deep into the ocean, then slowed. A million stars twinkled overhead.
She never heard his footsteps.
Like a wild stallion mounting his mare, he pressed his hard body against hers and dragged her legs apart. She gasped and held on tight as he yanked her up, spread her wide, and plunged deep inside. — Jennifer Probst

Ani saw herself clearly in that moment, as a face in darkness gains sudden dimensions in a flash of lightning - a young girl, a silly thing, a lapdog, a broken mare. — Shannon Hale

Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are
Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose. — Walter De La Mare

The choke?" I exclaim, perplexed.
Next to me, Cal tries his best to be civil. His best isn't very good.
"Idiocy," he snaps. "The Choke has more Silvers than you know, each one instructed to arrest or kill you on sight. If you're lucky, they'll take you back to prison. — Victoria Aveyard

Recently Mr. Mawdsley's donkey escaped from his stall, raced down the road, and somehow found his way into an enclosed pasture. Mr. Caird's prized mare was innocently grazing when the ill-bred seducer had his way with her. Now it appears the mare has conceived, and a feud is raging between Caird, who demands financial compensation, and Mawdsley, who insists that had the pasture fencing been in better repair, the clandestine meeting would never have occurred. Worse still, it has been suggested that the mare is a shameless lightskirt and did not try nearly hard enough to preserve her virtue. — Lisa Kleypas

It is very seldom that one encounters what would appear to be sheer unadulterated evil in a human face; an evil, I mean, active, deliberate, deadly, dangerous. Folly, heedlessness, vanity, pride, craft, meanness, stupidity - yes. But even Iagos in this world are few, and devilry is as rare as witchcraft. ("Bad Company") — Walter De La Mare

Lightning has no mercy. — Victoria Aveyard

In high school, theater was all I ever wanted to do. I didn't see that I was going to set it aside for so many years and take a right turn into television. Of course, wanting to do theater is something you hear a lot from actors. I think I've been embarrassed to be in that big cliche. — Mare Winningham

Everyone died in solitude, after all. A simple enough truth. A truth no one need fear. The spirits waited before they cast judgement upon a soul, waited for that soul - in its dying isolation - to set judgement upon itself, upon the life it had lived, and if peace came of that, then the spirits would show mercy. If torment rode the Wild Mare, why, then, the spirits knew to match it. When the soul faced itself, after all, it was impossible to lie. Deceiving arguments rang loud with falsehood, their facile weakness too obvious to ignore. — Steven Erikson

But now, as he paced up and down the ward, he remembered how the old folk used to die back home on the Kama - Russians, Tartars, Votyaks or whatever they were. They didn't puff themselves up or fight against it or brag that they weren't going to die - they took death calmly. They didn't stall squaring things away, they prepared themselves quietly and in good time, deciding who should have the mare, who the foal, who the coat and who the boots. — Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

When death comes, we take off our clothes and gather everything we left behind: what is dark, broken, touched with shame. When Death demands we give an accounting, naked we present our lives in bundles. See how much these weigh, we tell him, refusing to deny what we have lived. Everything that is touched by light loves the light. We the stubborn-as-grass, we who reel at the taste of sap and want our spirits cleansed, will not betray the weeds, snake, or crippled mare. Never leave behind what the light shone on. — Linda Gregg

Don't lie to a liar, — Victoria Aveyard

and she and the mare set off after Safi. — Susan Dennard

She was no longer the fair-haired, colourless girl whom I had seen at the church fifteen years before, but a stout, over-dressed lady, one of those ladies with no age, no character, no elegance, no wit, nor any of the attributes that constitute a woman. She was merely a mother, a fat, commonplace mother, the breeder, the human brood-mare, the procreating machine made of flesh, with no interests but her children and her cookery-book. — Guy De Maupassant

The Howeitat spread out along the cliffs to return the peasants' fire. This manner of going displeased Auda, the old lion, who raged that a mercenary village folk should dare to resist their secular masters, the Abu Tayi. So he jerked his halter, cantered his mare down the path, and rode out plain to view beneath the easternmost houses of the village. There he reined in, and shook a hand at them, booming in his wonderful voice: 'Dogs, do you not know Auda?' When they realized it was that implacable son of war their hearts failed them, and an hour later Sherif Nasir in the town-house was sipping tea with his guest the Turkish Governor, trying to console him for the sudden change of fortune. — T.E. Lawrence

And some win peace who spend
The skill of words to sweeten despair
Of finding consolation where
Life has but one dark end. — Walter De La Mare

Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels. — Walter De La Mare

She's the queen of the herd."
"May I touch her?"
"If she'll let you. She doesn't take to strangers well."
I took a hesitant step forward and reached out my hand. Terror approached me with confidence, then ducked her muzzle beneath my palm. Once she came closer, for a moment, I feared she was going to trample me. But then she brushed gently against my side.
"She wants you to ride her." Jockey looked at me. "This is an honor."
All thoughts of bailing out quietly went to hell with that statement. Why not? How often did you get a chance to ride a Night Mare? — Donna Augustine

I am more likely to be the mate of that old mare in the field than the mate of a royal, let alone the Alpha of our pack. And for the signs to appear even before I am sixteen seems quite doubtful. — Quinn Loftis

A lost but happy dream may shed its light upon our waking hours, and the whole day may be infected with the gloom of a dreary or sorrowful one; yet of neither may we be able to recover a trace. — Walter De La Mare

Svein had offered to talk. The Danes, quite suddenly, had stopped raiding. Instead they had settled in Cridianton and sent an embassy to Exanceaster, and Svein and Odda had made their private peace. "We sell them horses," Harald said, "and they pay well for them. Twenty shillings a stallion, fifteen a mare." "You sell them horses," I said flatly. "So they will go away," Harald explained. Servants threw a big birch log onto the fire. Sparks exploded outward, scattering the hounds who lay just beyond the ring of hearth stones. "How many men does Svein lead?" I asked. "Many," Harald said. "Eight hundred?" I asked. "Nine?" Harald shrugged. "They came in twenty-four ships," I went — Bernard Cornwell

The die was cast. It was a proud day for the Milligan family as I was taken from the house. "I'm too young to go," I screamed as Military Policemen dragged me from my pram, clutching a dummy. At Victoria Station the R.T.O. gave me a travel warrant, a white feather and a picture of Hitler marked "This is your enemy." I searched every compartment, but he wasn't on the train. At 4.30, June 2nd, 1940, on a summer's day all mare's tails and blue sky we arrived at Bexhill-on-Sea, where I got off. It wasn't easy. The train didn't stop there. — Spike Milligan

I know well that only the rarest kind of best can be good enough for the young. — Walter De La Mare

His brow is seamed with line and scar;
His cheek is red and dark as wine;
The fires as of a Northern star
Beneath his cap of sable shine.
His right hand, bared of leathern glove,
Hangs open like an iron gin,
You stoop to see his pulses move,
To hear the blood sweep out and in.
He looks some king, so solitary
In earnest thought he seems to stand,
As if across a lonely sea
He gazed impatient of the land.
Out of the noisy centuries
The foolish and the fearful fade;
Yet burn unquenched these warrior eyes,
Time hath not dimmed, nor death dismayed. — Walter De La Mare

I don't want to date her; I just want to be around her. She's ... different."
"Different how?" America asked, sounding irritated.
"She doesn't put up with my bullshit, it's refreshing. You said it yourself, Mare. I'm not her type. It's just not ... like that with us."
"You're closer to her type than you know," America said. — Jamie McGuire

Oh, pity the poor glutton Whose troubles all begin In struggling on and on to turn What's out into what's in. — Walter De La Mare

Let them enjoy their Eden while they can; though there's plenty of apples, I fear, on the tree yet, Mr Lawford. — Walter De La Mare

The first of these houses appeared to be occupied. The next two were vacant. Dingy curtains, soot-grey against their snowy window-sills, hung over the next. A litter of paper and refuse-abandoned by the last long gust of wind that must have come whistling round the nearer angle of the house - lay under the broken flight of steps up to a mid-Victorian porch. The small snow clinging to the bricks and to the worn and weathered cement of the wall only added to its gaunt lifelessness. (Bad Company — Walter De La Mare

Indeed you have what it takes to care like a mare, but can misters br one? — Aporva Kala

When they had arranged their blankets the boy lowered the lamp and stepped into the yard and pulled the door shut behind, leaving them in profound and absolute darkness.
No one moved. In that cold stable the shutting of the door may have evoked in some hearts other hostels and not of their choosing. The mare sniffed uneasily and the young colt stepped about. Then one by one they began to divest themselves of their outer clothes, the hide slickers and raw wool serapes and vests, and one by one they propagated about themselves a great crackling of sparks and each man was seen to wear a shroud of palest fire. Their arms aloft pulling at their clothes were luminous and each obscure soul was enveloped in audible shapes of light as if it had always been so. The mare at the far end of the stable snorted and shied at this luminosity in beings so endarkened and the little horse turned and hid his face in the web of his dam's flank. — Cormac McCarthy

My favorite part about Mare Barrow is her almost selfish survival instinct, as well as her increasingly gray morality. Her character arc in 'Glass Sword' is a lot deeper and more emotional than before, so I'm glad I got to write this sequel and that people want to read it. — Victoria Aveyard

The basic philosophy of life seemed to be: What do I care? It's none of my business. [The philosophy of Naples, Italy.] — Franco Di Mare

She was not so easily fooled. "Fell, huh?" she asked, pricking her ears. "I was trying to fly," said Star. The gray mare nodded. "Would you like Sweetroot to take a look at it? She may have some medicine to heal it." "No. It's fine." Sweetroot was Sun Herd's medicine mare, and Star saw her often enough as it was. Each morning she rubbed a mixture of marigold and comfrey across the torn ends of his wings. — Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

For a storm is certainly coming, whether from my hand or someone else's.
and i have no idea who will survive the dawn — Victoria Aveyard

Her grip is strong as she shakes my hand; for once someone isn't afraid I'll break like glass.
"Every happiness to you, Lady Mareena. I can see this one suits you." She jerks her head toward
Maven. "Not like fancy Samos," she adds in a playful whisper. "She'll make a sad queen, and you a
happy princess, mark my words."
"Marked, — Victoria Aveyard

With unsteady hands, Phillip yanked on the mare's bridle straps while trying to loosen one of the stubborn buckles. She snorted at his rough handling.
Totka appeared beside him. "Let me."
Phillip gratefully released the task, an unexpected sense of brotherhood filling him. If anyone knew the heartache of separation, it was the man whose deft brown hands readied Phillip's mount for the long road ahead.
Totka's own road had been lengthy. And yet, after two years, he somehow managed to continue to place one foot in front of the other. His breath still entered and left his body in the same monotonous pattern. How? When already several times over the half-day since Grayson had ridden out with Milly, Phillip had wondered if his chest might explode with the effort of expanding and contracting without her. — April W. Gardner

It's to bad we didn't stay longer", I murmur, looking out at the river. "I would have liked to die close to home. — Victoria Aveyard

Poor tired Tim! It's sad for him He lags the long bright morning through, Ever so tired of nothing to do. — Walter De La Mare

On verge of going apostrophic, taking foxglove, myrrh, mare's milk cure, shedding articles, shredding conjunctions, but can't shake prepositions. — Kate Campbell

Another leading senator that I degraded was Caligula's horse Incitatus who was to have become Consul three years later. I wrote to the Senate that I had no complaints to make against the private morals of this senator or his capacity for the tasks that had hitherto been assigned to him, but that he no longer had the necessary financial qualifications. For I had cut the pension awarded him by Caligula to the daily rations of a cavalry horse, dismissed his grooms and put him into an ordinary stable where the manger was of wood, not ivory, and the walls were whitewashed, not covered with frescoes. I did not, however, separate him from his wife, the mare Penelope: that would have been unjust. — Robert Graves

I'll make the other scream for you, Mare, every last one. Not just your parents. Not just your siblings. But every single one like you. I'm going to find them, and they will die with you in their thoughts, knowing this is the fate you have brought them. I am the king and you could've been my Red Queen. Now you are nothing. — Victoria Aveyard

They beg to a Silver king, and spit upon Red queens. — Victoria Aveyard

A poor old Widow in her weeds
Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds;
Not too shallow, and not too deep,
And down came April -- drip -- drip -- drip.
Up shone May, like gold, and soon
Green as an arbour grew leafy June.
And now all summer she sits and sews
Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows,
Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet,
Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit;
Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells;
Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells;
Like Oberon's meadows her garden is
Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees.
Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs,
And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes;
And all she has is all she needs --
A poor Old Widow in her weeds. — Walter De La Mare

The mare on which the traitor had been seated at the time of his death was, obviously, no longer considered the best horse in Parthia. It was amazing that she had not been served as stew at one of the banquets. — M.C. Scott

Hello?" he said, waiting out the shrill stream on the other end of the line. He smiled, "Because I'm her husband. I can answer her phone, now." He glanced at me, and then shoved open the cab door, offering his hand. "We're at the airport, America. Why don't you and Shep pick us up and you can yell at us both on the way home? Yes, the whole way home. We should arrive around three. All right, Mare. See you then." He winced with her sharp words and then handed me the phone. "You weren't kidding. She's pissed. — Jamie McGuire

The stallion and his mare,
unbridled, with arrow-pattern,
are worked on.
the blue cloth
before the door
of religion and inspiration ... — Hilda Doolittle

Even one small thing can go right in a world so wrong ~ Mare Barrow — Victoria Aveyard

They've pulled me inside out, swapping Mare for Mareena, a thief for a crown, rags for silk, Red for Silver. This morning I was a servant, tonight I'm a princess. How much more will change? What else will I lose? — Victoria Aveyard

I don't know whether it's a fear of standing up, but I really love sitting at the table and blabbing. I learn so much that way, and I think I get free that way, free from inhibition and fears. — Mare Winningham

Women," Mat declared as he rode Pips down the dusty, little-used road, "are like mules." He frowned. "Wait. No. Goats. Women are like goats. Except every flaming one thinks she's a horse instead, and a prize racing mare to boot. Do you understand me, Talmanes?"
"Pure poetry, Mat," Talmanes said, tamping the tabac down into his pipe. — Robert Jordan

The fallen prince is exhausting. I don't know how Mare could stand him or his inability to choose a damned side-especially when there's only one side he can possibly pick. — Victoria Aveyard

Mindfulness develops the ability to be a real friend to ourselves. — Mare Chapman

Lad stood to attention anyhow, he said with a sigh. She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear and Hercules and the dragon, and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them all, faith. At last she spotted a weeny weeshy one miles away. And what star is that, Poldy? says she. By God, she had Bloom cornered. That one, is it? says Chris Callinan, sure that's only what you might call a pinprick. — James Joyce

7 Precious Are Things Of Utility
Give to eat mare some meat,
Leaves for lion - its freak,
Water for the parrot to dwell,
Air for the fish - it is hell.
[58] - 1
Precious are things that be,
Prized by and of true utility,
Water for fish, parrot for air,
Meat for lion, leaves for mare.
[59] - 1 — Munindra Misra

There was nothing romantic about bonding with someone to become a warrior or bonding with someone else to become a brood mare. — Anonymous

The danger in a brood mare band is that your mares become antiquated, and you wake up some day and realize that the average age of your band is 15 or 16 and that in another year they won't be producing offspring. I think the ideal average age for a brood mare band is about 10. — Larry MacPhail

Spenser Reynolds began telling about his next project - an attempt to have suicides coordinate their leaps from bridges on a score of worlds while the All Thing watched - and Tyrena Wingreen-Feif stole all attention by putting her arm around Monsignor Edouard and inviting him to her after-dinner nude swimming party at her floating estate on Mare Infinitus. I — Dan Simmons

I AM come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and ardor of passion. Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence
whether much that is glorious
whether all that is profound
does not spring from disease of thought
from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in waking, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however, rudderless or compassless into the vast ocean of the "light ineffable", and again, like the adventures of the Nubian geographer, "agressi sunt mare tenebrarum, quid in eo esset exploraturi".
We will say then, that I am mad. — Edgar Allan Poe

The soldier takes pride in saluting his Captain,
The devotee proffers a knee to his Lord,
Some back a mare thrown from a thoroughbred,
Troy backed its Helen, Troy died and adored;
Great nations blossom above,
A slave bows down to a slave. — William Butler Yeats

How do you like her?" Philip asked, nodding toward Meg.
"She's perfect." And she really was. "Just spirited enough to keep it interesting without being difficult to manage. And so beautiful." I patted her neck and flashed him a smile. "A gentle mare would have never been able to keep up with you."
He smiled, too, but as if at a private thought. "You are absolutely right. — Julianne Donaldson

World-building is my favorite pastime, so with me, I'm always about reining myself in. I don't want to lose too much of the mystery by hammering every detail to death. I did fiddle with lots of maps for 'Glass Sword,' as the second installment sees Mare, Cal and company traveling throughout their country, and that's always fun for me. — Victoria Aveyard

Yes, after all, this by now was his customary loneliness: there was little else he desired for the present than the hospitality of the dark. — Walter De La Mare

Lawford had soundlessly stolen a pace or two nearer, and by stopping forward he could, each in turn, scrutinize the little intent company sitting over his story around the lamp at the further end of the table; squatting like little children with their twigs and pins, fishing for wonders on the brink of the unknown. — Walter De La Mare

Christmas Eve Saint Francis and Saint Benedight Blesse this house from wicked wight; From the night-mare and the goblin, That is hight good fellow Robin: Keep it from all evil spirits, Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets: From curfew time To the next prime. — Thomas Cartwright

She picked a sorrel mare with four white socks named Scarlett. Levi wasn't about to ride his favorite stallion, Rhett - Tamara would read too much into that - so he saddled Ashley, the one gelding in the stables, instead. You — Tiffany Reisz

A landscape glittered behind her voice. There were icicles in it and savage fields of ice, great storms boiling over a flat countryside striped with white rails - a chessboard beneath a storm. Horses were stretched forever at the gallop. Tiny men in silk were brave beyond bearing and sat on the horses like embryos with their knees in their mouths. The gorgeous names of horses were cried from mouth to mouth and circulated in a steam of fame. Lottery, The Hermit, the great mare Sceptre; the glorious ancestress Pocahontas, whose blood ran down like time into her flying children; Easter Hero, the Lamb, that pony stallion. — Enid Bagnold

I have lived that life already, in the mud, in the shadows, in a cell, in a silk dress. I will never submit again. I will never stop fighting. — Victoria Aveyard

He that speaks ill of the mare will buy her. — Benjamin Franklin

Clover was a stout motherly mare approaching middle life, who had never quite got her figure back after her fourth foal. — George Orwell

The only catalogue of this world's goods that really counts is that which we keep in the silence of the mind. — Walter De La Mare

For a knight to ride in a carriage was against the principles of chivalry and he never under any circumstances rode a mare. — Barbara W. Tuchman

I'll see you tomorrow, Mare. You know you want to see my ring."
"And your tat," she said, a smile in her voice. — Jamie McGuire

It is money makes the mare to trot. — John Wolcot

You have sent me a Flanders mare. — Henry VIII Of England

Dawn is breaking, sending pale fingers of cold light across the hills that surround the Harrisons' farmyard. Jess is being difficult, rearing and trying to bolt away from the truck, and we've been at it for some time when Liam comes out of the house and sees our predicament. He marches across the yard, picks up a piece of cut-off hosepipe and walks up behind the pony. I see the look on Alec's face as his dad approaches, and he's not happy. Liam tells his son to "walk her up" and then cracks the mare around the rump with the piece of pipe when she plants her feet. The sound of the pipe hitting the pony echoes across the hills and rings in my ears. Jess starts to rear but earns another whack around the backside, so scrambles up the ramp and stands trembling in the truck. Alec quickly ties her up, his expression unreadable. — Kate Lattey

To breed a winner, let alone at Royal Ascot, is unbelievable. I've got four children and they all love the mother. We pat it most days and she's a lovely mare. — Michael Owen

Authorities within, the shadows of the night took such shapes to him as arose out of the message, and took such shapes to the mare as arose out of her private topics of uneasiness. They seemed to be numerous, for she shied at every shadow on the road. What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, — Charles Dickens

What a haunting, inescapable riddle life was. — Walter De La Mare

Ma'alesh; no matter; never mind; what can you do but accept things as they are? Ma'alesh, your pot overturned in the fire; ma'alesh, your prize mare died; ma'alesh, you lost all your possessions and half your family. The word was the everyday essence of Islam - which itself, after all, means submission. — Laurie R. King

Diamond heists, romance & intrigue feature in Stella di Mare. — Patricia Bellomo

The grass and the rivers and the stones and women and horses and more Stars and men and clouds and birds and trees came dancing through the afterbirth of the Mare, — Catherynne M Valente

His was not an easy face to read, and no one could have told that in the past half hour he had suffered the worst knock of his life. Except that he no longer whistled into the wind or talked to his irritable mare, there was nothing to show. — Winston Graham

When I lie where shades of darkness Shall no more assail mine eyes. — Walter De La Mare

She is my mare and my best friend, and I keep waiting for something bad to happen to her, because I love her too much. — Maggie Stiefvater

I am queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not a brood mare! — George R R Martin

When there hasn't been anything there, nothing can be said to have vanished from the place where it has not been.
("Out Of The Deep") — Walter De La Mare