Quotes About Hay

A real farmer. He spent his childhood in the wheat, and his marriage in the hay.

My men like satyrs grazing on the lawns, / Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay.

My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns, shall with their goat feet dance the antic hay.

I USED TO LOVE this season. The wood stacked by the door, the tang of its sap still speaking of forest. The hay made, all golden in the low afternoon light. The rumble of the apples tumbling into the cellar bins. Smells and sights and sounds that said this year it would be all right: there'd be food and warmth for the babies by the time the snows came.

Besides, I loved the sound of the gallop. On mornings, before the races, I would walk down among the stalls and breathe in all the scents of the hay and the soap and the saddle leather.

It's not much of a place: only a loft; but, having a loft, I always say, is one of the great conveniences of living in a mews; and till this coach-house and stable gets a better let, we live here cheap. There's plenty of sweet hay up there, belonging to a neighbour; and it's as clean as hands, and Meg, can make it. Cheer up! Don't give way. A new heart for a New Year, always!

Paying alimony is like feeding hay to a dead horse.

Love and hate hold hands always so it made natural sense that they'd get confused by upset married folk in the wee hours once in a while and a nosebleed or bruised breast might result. But it just seemed proof that a great foulness was afoot in the world when a no-strings roll in the hay with a stranger led to chipped teeth or cigarette burns on the wrist.

I imagine he'd blow his horn when he threw the hay over. Cows are curious. Worse than cats. They'd come to see about it. And they've got good memories. Do it about twice, and when they hear a horn they think of good alfalfa hay. Come running.

I'm from Vermont, where to be stylish and cool is to have a dirty pair of hiking boots and know how to change a tire, hang drywall, and bale hay. Those people are my home, and every time I come home, it reminds me that there's something to be said for being in the spotlight, but it can never be a whole part of me.

Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die.-Joe Hill, The Preacher and the Slave

See Pitch over there? he asked, pointing with his chin. Try to get her to come to you. Pitch had wandered from the other horses, trying to get at the hay in the wagon's bed. My eyebrows rose, giving him a pained look. You mean, here, horsy, horsy, horsy... He gave me a severe look, but his eyes were glittering in a repressed amusement.

This is the smell of June , she wanted to write to Christopher... honeysuckle, green hay, wet linen hung out to dry ...

Hampshire was dressed in scarlet and brilliant orange, the hounds were out four mornings a week, and the last baskets of fruit had been harvested from heavy-laden trees. Now that the hay had been cut, the raucous corn-cakes had left the fields, their clamor replaced by the liquid notes of song-thrushes and the chatter of yellow buntings.

The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses who pull;

The lawn mower attends with defeaning shudder to the tonsure; a light odor of fresh hay intoxicates the air; the leveled grass finds again a bristling infancy; but the bite of the blades reveals unevenness, mangy clearings, yellow patches.

Gathering the golden harvest through long summer days leaves a lasting sweetness to ripen in a man's soul. The smell of newly carted hay can be a lasting memory even in strange cities.

Ukraina: he sighs, breathing in the remembered scent of mown hay and cherry blossom. But I catch the distinct synthetic whiff of New Russia. Her

Paying alimony is like feeding hay to a dead horse.

Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die. -Joe Hill, The Preacher and the Slave

the smells of the fur rug and saddle soap, leather and hay, the warm, clean, fecund smell of horses, arose out of the cold darkness and were a comfort against a yearning that was not homesickness.

In the morn when they woke, it was Halloween Day. There was bobbing for apples and rides in the hay. There were costume parties, and games to be played. Cupcakes and candy and, of course, a parade! After dinner was served, and the kids were done eating, it was finally time to go trick-or-treating! Moms re-painted faces, and straightened clown hats, put wings back on fairies, angels, and bats. Jack-o-lanterns were set out on porches with care. Their grins seemed to say, "Knock if you dare.

Finding an Irish-American in the law enforcement profession is like finding hay in a haystack...

Oh the moonlight's fair tonight along the Wabash.From the fields there comes the breath of new-mown hay;Through the sycamores the candle lights are gleaming,On the banks of the Wabash, far away.