Quotes About Hound

The thing that I just discovered, which fascinates me really - my name, McCann, the translation isn't 'Son of Ann'... It comes from 'Canis' - as in 'canine' - as in 'dog!' My name - Rory McCann - means Rory Hound, Rory Wolfhound.

I think I'd want Tommen'to fight the Hound! And the Mountain! The Hound and the Mountain on one side, and Tommen on the other side. That would be so sick. Tommen would smash it!

He was nothing but a shadow on the horizon when that old basset hound of his escaped from the sheriff's office and went loping down the street. When she reached the edge of town, she sank down on her grizzled haunches, threw back her head, and let out a howl that broke nearly every heart that heard it. Later, there would be many who would swear he'd reined in his mare and stood silhouetted against the sunset for a timeless moment.

What are you smiling at, Sir Archie? The hound and you seem on wondrous friendly terms;

Technically, the dance worked best when done naked, but I didn't feel like prancing in the nude into Morrigan Hound's arms. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see me.

Kate sat at her desk. Grendel sprawled by her feet, an enormous black monstrosity that had more in common with the hound of the Baskervilles than with any poodle I had ever seen.

In the haunted shade of the Ateneo, her hands wrote a curse on my skin that was to hound me for years.

Lady Brienne is a warrior maid," confided Septon Meribald, "hunting for the Hound." "Aye?" Narbert seemed taken aback. "To what end?" Brienne touched Oathkeeper's hilt. "His," she said.

He had liked her enormously, and he loved Krug with the same passion that a big sleek long-flewed hound feels for the high-booted hunter who reeks of the marsh as he leans towards the red fire. Krug could take aim at a flock of the most popular and sublime human thoughts and bring down a wild goose any time. But he could not kill death.

The women that I picked spoke sweet and low And yet gave tongue. "Hound voices" were they all.

My stepfather was a brilliant and funny psychiatrist but he was a hound dog. He just didn't know how to be faithful.

BOWSER THE HOUND BY THORNTON W.

Adventure most unto itself The Soul condemned to be; Attended by a Single Hound – Its own Identity.

Possibility, infinity, beauty -- none of those words were right. [...] What he really wanted to say was: have you felt this? this phantom life streaking like a phosphorescent hound at the edges of your ruin?

Suddenly a dog burst from the concealment of the trees, its shaggy wheaten coat gleaming warmly in the sun. He was a medium-sized mix of no particular breed, part hound, possibly, or maybe retriever. He seemed well fed, so it was doubtful that he was a stray. Then again, mayhap he was skilled at poaching birds and rabbits from the bountiful reserves of game in the area.

The moon's tip appeared above the sea. A gunboat fired: deep, booming note – the voice of an old solitary hound.

And he has guns and dogs that would make the Hound of Baskervilles seem like a bleeding Pekinese.

Although the old hound had no way of knowing it, he had stirred memories, and what priceless treasures they were. Memories of my boyhood days, an old K. C. Baking Powder can, and two little red hounds. Memories of a wonderful love, unselfish devotion, and death in its saddest form.

hound weren't the only ones awake that night.

A tender speech is combing through the willows. In a bare whisper, the elms lean. Something about the place conjures up the ancient past: the hound, the spear, the spinning wheel. There's pleasure to be had in history.

It was a large, tawny hound, smoke-gray in color. One of its dangling ears had been ripped and was almost healed. Tom looked wonderingly at it. Its outward confirmation was similar to the Plott hounds that made up old Bill's pack, but it was not a Plott hound. Its jowls were very heavy, and overhung the lower jaw in leathery folds. On the sad-looking face, tan relieved the hounds smoky-gray color.

Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

My guess was that when you descended to a certain depth of depravity, the Fogs could smell you as a hound, catching a murderer's spoor, could track the criminal through forest, field, and moor.

It was a hound of some sort, black and disproportionately long-bodied, with lets so stumpy that they appeared to have been amputated. With large, liquid eyes and a sturdy long tail in constant motion, it resembled nothing so much as and exceedingly amiable sausage.