Quotes About Farm

But if the rooster crows, this is not for the farmer. (Mais si le coq a chanté, - Ce n'est pas pour le fermier.)

Creating your own urban farm is as simple as planting your flowerbeds with edibles.

If his mother had lived it might have been different, but the farm in Asoli where Garin of Lower Corte had taken his three sons had been a dour, womanless place—acceptable perhaps for the twins, who had each other, and for the kind of man Garin had slowly become amid the almost featureless spaces of the flatlands, but no source of nurture or warm memories for a small, quick, imaginative youngest child, whose own gifts, whatever they might turn out to be, were not those of the land.

He was polishing the glass with a dead hen.

onto a heap, making a churned brown trail across the whiteness. 'Now then,' he muttered along the side of a half-smoked cigarette. He was over seventy but still ran the smallholding single-handed. He told me once that he had worked as a farm hand for six shillings a day for thirty years, yet still managed

Now then, young man," he cried in the nasal twang of the West Riding. "I'm Mr. Dinsdale's brother. I farm over in Listondale." I put down my equipment and nodded. "How do you do? My name is Herriot.

Sheep!" Angel cried, catching sight of some fluffy brown wool. "Anne is quite the animal lover," Fang said to me as we followed Angel. "Horses, sheep, goats. Chickens. Pigs." "Yeah," I said. "I wonder who's for dinner?" He flashed one of his rare smiles at me, and it was like the sun coming out. I felt my cheeks get hot and strode on ahead.

Anne is quite the animal lover," Fang said to me as we followed Angel. "Horses, sheep, goats. Chickens. Pigs." "Yeah," I said. "I wonder who's for dinner?

I lived the first five years of my life on a farm in Union City, Michigan, with my mom and grandparents. It was the most magical time of my life.

I view anything on this farm as model. I actually painted Union Rags as a yearling.

The farm is one field to the east of the railroad track that used to connect New Orleans with Chicago. The track runs beside Highway 45, an old U.S. route that unites Chicago with Mobile, Alabama.

The simple hearth of the small farm is the true center of our universe.

Growing up on a farm was the best. I remember loving that expanse of space. The sky at night was so clear, I could see every star.

I know that my image and my clothing and my output are very colorful and can be arresting and startling in some respects. That is the nature of my work, but I am a simple farm boy, and I am very calm by nature.

I grew up on a farm where we had one radio station and it was all country.

I grew up on a farm, and we didn't have cable and only limited radio stations, so I wasn't inundated with culture the way people in other parts of the country were. But I was really interested in it.

My stepfather was a country music fan, and I grew up on a horse farm, so the older country, that's what he listened to.

An honest man can feel no pleasure in the exercise of power over his fellow citizens . . . There has never been a moment of my life in which I should have relinquished for it the enjoyments of my family, my farm, my friends and books.

I look forward the day that I could work on my farm, create music, write books, and be with the wife and kids around the clock - and live a normal life.

I love general history. That's all I read really. I don't read novels, I read history. I love it. I live in an area that's really rich in Civil War history. I live in Kentucky on a farm. A lot of revolution, a lot of military history I love.

Fair Oaks Farm in Indiana - listen, if you have a chance to go there, it's better than Disney World, because it's all real.

I'm animal obsessed! I basically have a farm in my house.

He had been given the job and he was going to do it. But now for the first time he hated it genuinely. Perhaps there had been too many fatigue-products, perhaps the cumulative labor had dissolved and reshaped the structures of his mind, but in any case he was wretched with this work, and as a corollary he understood suddenly that he had always hated the drudgery of his farm work, the unending monotonous struggle against an arid unyielding soil.

Zinnia always wants to hug me and pat me because she has a boy my same age named Melvin. I said maybe some day Melvin could come play at our farm, and I could bring him to the maze and show him the shortcuts. Zinnia started crying. That's when I seen that she has freckles.