Quotes About Hounds

Hares are caught with hounds, fools with praise, and women with gold.

I am a house gutted by fire where only the guilty sometimes sleep before the punishment that devours them hounds them out in the open.

All down the way the pursued and the pursuing, the dream and the dreamers, the quarry and the hounds. All down the way the sudden revealment, the flash of familiar eyes, the cry of an old, old name. Everyone leaping forward as, like an image reflected from ten thousand mirrors, ten thousand eyes, the running dream came and went, a different face to those ahead, those behind, those yet to be met, those unseen... And here they all are now, at the boat, wanting the dream for their own.

This hunting of the fox, you need the dogs, no?' 'Hounds,' I corrected gently. 'Yes, of course.' 'But yet,' Poirot wagged his finger at me. 'You did not descend from your horse and run along the ground smelling with your nose and uttering loud Ow Ows?

'Tis the white stag, Fame, we're a-hunting, bid the world's hounds come to horn!

They take unbelievable pleasure in the hideous blast of the hunting horn and baying of the hounds. Dogs dung smells sweet as cinnamon to them.

The hounds all join in glorious cry, / The huntsman winds his horn: / And a-hunting we will go.

I showed my mom the movie then I told her the movie got bought and that it was gonna be shown in theatres and be on video. Everyone was really psyched about it. Everyone in my little town of hounds started to call me movie star.

The hounds will come to Cainsville and when they do, you'll wish you made a very different choice today

I want limits, damn it. I'll accept omens and portents and second sight. I'll accept giant black hounds and creepy ravens and magpies. I'm still working out the fae and Wild Hunt thing. But I draw the line at people disappearing into thin air.

A feast of moon and men and barking hounds,An orgy for some genius of the SouthWith blood-hot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth,Surprised in making folk songs from soul sounds.

No dreams, these torments, not to me, they're clear, real - the hounds of mother's hate.

They take unbelievable pleasure in the hideous blast of the hunting horn and baying of the hounds. Dogs dung smells sweet as cinnamon to them.

The King's tool. I see.' An oppression settle over me. My brief glimpse of blue skies arching over yellow roads and me travelling down them astride Sooty suddenly vanished. I thought of the hounds in their kennels instead, or of the hawk, hooded and strapped, that rode on the King's wrist and was loosed only to do the King's will.

years an anomaly. Not only is the terrain of Buck more suited to hound-hunting, but also hounds are more suited to the larger game that is usually the prey of mounted hunters. A lively pack of hounds, boiling and baying, is a fine accompaniment for a royal hunt. The cat, when it is employed, is usually

There were no larks anymore. There was only the setting sun spreading blood up the sky and the yowl of hounds on a breast-high scent.

Five hounds now, not four, Kit saw, and the fifth one white as starlight on snowdrifts, running strongly alongside the others, like an idealized alabaster statue rather than any real hound, even a transformed one.

What sort of hounds are those?" "Faerie hounds, Sir Poet," Puck answered, putting Kit's boot as he hung the little silk pouch around his neck. "With yawning mouths, sharp teeth, and wet lolling tongus. Fleet of limb, compact of foot, and tireless in the hunt.

High on a stag the Goddess held her seat, And there were little hounds about her feet; Below her feet there was a sickle moon, Waxing it seemed, but would be waning soon. Her statue bore a mantle of bright green, Her hand a bow with arrows cased and keen; Her eyes were lowered, gazing as she rode Down to where Pluto has his dark abode.

But to go back in such circumstances is a terrible disaster. It amounts to complete defeat; and is tantamount to a confession that you must go home, because you are unable to ride to hounds. A man, when he is compelled to do this, is almost driven to resolve at the spur of the moment that he will give up hunting for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER IX THE OLD KENNELS

All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.

Can't you hear the hell hounds of society bay in full pursuit behind us?

The superstition that the hounds of truth will rout the vermin of error seems, like a fragment of Victorian lace, quaint, but too brittle to be lifted out of the showcase.