There was a rhythm to the canter. Up, forward, down; up, forward, down. It soon became pleasant. The broad warm rump felt good beneath her. The pounding was diminished, cushioned by the horse's muscles and the springiness of his hindquarter joints . . . The ridden horse was a marvel, diminishing space.

teaching meant for the hands enters most easily through the eyes.

Intuition is the voice of the spirit within you.

I'm Irish!...When I feel well I feel better than anyone, when I am in pain I yell at the top of my lungs, and when I am dead I shall be deader than anybody.

You have no enemy until you make one.

We’re born alone and we die alone, I accept that. But why, God, do we have to be alone in the middle?

Wine could become a place rather than a beverage.