It Is Good People Who Make Good

Oh! If People Knew What A Comfort To A Horse A Light Hand Is.

He Has Known Joy And Violence. Felt The Warmth Of Children And The Cruelty Of Abuse. He Has Nearly Died Saving Lives And Merely Been Killed By A Drunken Act. He Has Known The Finery Of Grand Estates And The Filth Of Stinking Slums. He Has Survived Fire And Flood, Starvation And Torment. And Nothing Could Break His Spirit-or His Great Love. This Is His Life. He Is Called The Horse.

I Don't Believe In Religion, For I Don't See That Your Religious People Are Any Better Than The Rest.

He Is Called The Horse

Though I Am An Old Horse, And Have Seen And Heard A Great Deal, I Never Yet Could Make Out Why Men Are So Fond Of This Sport; They Often Hurt Themselves, Often Spoil Good Horses, And Tear Up The Fields, And All For A Hare, Or A Fox, Or A Stag, That They Could Get More Easily Some Other Way; But We Are Only Horses, And Don't Know.