Six boys came over the hill half an hour early that afternoon, runing hard, their heads down, their forearns working, their breath whistling, They swept by the house and cut across the stubble field to the barn. And then they stood self-consciously before the pony, and then they looked at Jody with eyes in which there was a new admiration and a new respect. Before Jody had been a boy, dressed in overalls and a blue shirt--quieter than most, even suspected of being a little cowardly. Out of a thousand centuries they drew the ancient admiration of the footman for the horseman. They knew instinctively that a man on a horse is spiritually as well as physically bigger than a man on foot. They knew that Jody had been miraculously lifted out of equality with them, and had been placed over them.
Steinbeck, The Red Pony
Steinbeck, The Red PonySome Homer of the cotton fields should sing the saga of the mule and of his place in the South. He it was, more than any other one creature or thing, who, steadfast to the land when all else faltered before the hopeless juggernaut of circumstance, imperious to conditions that broke men's hearts because of his venomous and patient preoccupation with the immediate present, won the prone South from beneath the iron heel of Reconstruction and taught it pride again through humility, and courage through adversity overcome; [ . . ] Father and mother he does not resemble, sons and daughters he will never have; [. . .] Outcast and pariah, he has neither friend, wife, mistress, nor sweetheart; celibate, he is unscarred.
Faulkner, SartorisFar, far back in our dark soul, the horse prances.
--DH LawrenceSing, riding's a joy! For me I ride.
R Browning
