The Dark Horse Speaks Quotes

It was never the poverty that deterred me, never the disease, unsanitary conditions, bugs or garbage, those things were never even a thought in my head as a reason for not staying. I kept looking for the good and always found it each day. I was happy on the reservation.
It would have all worked out if Chief could have been a little nicer to me. The only thing I was missing was love and respect from my partner. Maybe he had changed. ~ Little White Bird

I definitely like taking the dark horse approach and picking people you should not be getting behind, and you figure out a way to get behind them. ~ Danny McBride

The Dark Prophecy
The words that memory wrought are set to fire,
Ere new moon rises o'er the Devils Mount.
The changeling lord shall face a dire,
Till bodies fill the Tiber beyond count.

Yet southward the sun now trace its course,
Through mazes dark to lands of scorching death
To find the master of the swift white horse
And wrest from him the crossword speaker's breath.

To westward palace must the Lester go;
Demeter's daughter finds her ancient roots.
The cloven guide alone the way does know,
To walk the path in thine own enemy's boots.

We three are known and Tiber reached alive,
'Tis only then Apollo starts to jive. ~ Rick Riordan

What makes a good editor is staying the hell out of the way as much as possible ... If you're a DC or Marvel or Dark Horse or BOOM! editor who's assigning work, then if you did your job properly to begin with, then the people you've hired can be trusted to do what they do without excessive meddling. The ideal situation you're shooting for as an editor is to groom a collaborative creative team to the point where their work sails effortlessly through production and the most you have to do is fix the spelling and the commas. ~ Mark Waid

Well, what do we do now?" Caramon asked, sitting astride his horse and looking both up and down the stream.
" 'You're' the expert on women," Raistlin retorted.
"All right, I made a mistake," Caramon grumbled. "That doesn't help us. It'll be dark soon, and then we'll never find her trail. I haven't heard you come up with any helpful suggestions," he grumbled, glancing at his brother balefully. "Can't you magic up something?"
"I would have 'magicked up' brains for you long time ago, if I could have," Raistlin snapped peevishly. "What would you like me to do?-make her appear out of thin air or look for her in my crystal ball? No, I won't waste my strength. Besides it's not necessary. Have you a map, or did you manage to think that far ahead? ~ Margaret Weis

Yes, I'm sorry you won't be coming with us," Chloe said to Alex. "But please don't worry. I'm certain The Lord has another plan for you." She glanced at me. "For both of you."
"Oh, I can assure you,"said a new, deeply masculine voice from behind me. I turned to see John sitting, tall and dark and disapproving, on the back of his horse, Alastor. "He does."
"Chloe wasn't talking about you," I said to John, leaning my elbows against the rough wood of the dock railing. "She meant the other lord."
John raised a dark eyebrow. "Oh, that one," he said. "My mistake. ~ Meg Cabot

Oh, Dougan, why send me this dark horse?' Farah inwardly railed. 'Why ask the devil in the flesh to find and protect me?'
Young Dougan couldn't have known how the man in front of her would affect her. How dangerous he truly was, because of the reckless impulses pouring through her veins and settling in the most secret of places.
He couldn't have known how much Dorian Blackwell secretly thrilled her. How his eyes on her made her feel helpless and powerful at the same time. ~ Kerrigan Byrne

It was as if my father had given me, by way of temperament, an impossibly wild, dark, and unbroken horse. It was a horse without a name, and a horse with no experience of a bit between its teeth. My mother taught me to gentle it; gave me the discipline and love to break it; and- as Alexander had known so intuitively with Bucephalus- she understood, and taught me, that the beast was best handled by turning it toward the sun. ~ Kay Redfield Jamison

In the dark room a cloud of yellow dust flew from beneath the tool like a scatter of sparks from under the hooves of a galloping horse. The twin wheels turned and hummed. Binet was smiling, his chin down, his nostrils distended. He seemed lost in the kind of happiness which, as a rule, accompanies only those mediocre occupations that tickle the intelligence with easy difficulties, and satisfy it with a sense of achievement beyond which there is nothing left for dreams to feed on. ~ Gustave Flaubert

It's the same way that when the car got going, people thought it would be an electric car, people thought it would be a steam car. Actually, the dark horse in that race was internal combustion, but because of the energy density of gasoline and discovery of oil in large amounts at that point in first Pennsylvania and then Texas, it won out over those other two, to the point that those other two are actually viewed as obscure footnotes in history. ~ Bill Gates

Through the days of love and celebration and joy, and through the dark days of mourning ... the faithful horse has been with us always. ~ Elizabeth Cotten

Jealousy Is An Emotion I've Never Felt.Envy Maybe.Like I'd Be Envious Of Say, Rihanna Who Is So Young, So Cool, She's Done Amazing Work.But I've Never Felt The Need To Be Jealous.Maybe, Because I've Been Lucky Enough To Have Contentment In What I Do. ~ Priyanka Chopra

And then the world stopped and there was nothing but Rose as she slipped from the crowd to stand before him. Grey forgot about Lady Devane. He forgot about everyone but her.
She wore a mask, but even if he hadn't recognized the hair and the dress he would have known it was her. He knew her scent, the shape of her mouth. He recognized her by the way his heart rejoiced at her nearness.
She stared at him, her mask doing nothing to conceal her wonder. "Why are you here?"
Grey smiled down at her. Did she notice that he'd pinned the rosette from the gown she'd worn their first night together to his lapel? "Because I hold you above my horse, my fortune, and my pride."
Her brow puckered. "I beg your pardon?"
"Those were the traits you said you required in a husband, were they not?"
Her face relaxed, and he thought he saw a glimmer of understanding in her dark eyes. "Yes. I believe they were. You came here just to tell me that?"
He laughed. Her face was so bright below the edge of her mask, her eyes damp and warm. It broke is heart-and buoyed it as well-to know he was responsible for all of that. "No. I came here to dance with my wife. And to do this." He took her face in his hands and kissed her in front of the entire ballroom. He didn't care about the gasps or that everyone could see. He didn't care what they said or whether or not his behavior was proper.
He was a duke, damn it. A scandalous one at that.
When he lifted his head, Rose's e ~ Kathryn Smith

The desire to make the horse happy and the cabman happy, had reached the point of a bizarre longing to take them to bed with him. And that, he knew, was impossible. For Stevie was not mad. It was, as it were, a symbolic longing; and at the same time it was very distinct, because springing from experience, the mother of wisdom. Thus when as a child he cowered in a dark corner scared, wretched, sore, and miserable with the black, black misery of the soul, his sister Winnie used to come along, and carry him off to bed with her, as into a heaven of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to forget mere facts, such as his name and address for instance, had a faithful memory of sensations. To be taken into a bed of compassion was the supreme remedy, with the only one disadvantage of being difficult of application on a large scale. And looking at the cabman, Stevie perceived this clearly, because he was reasonable. ~ Joseph Conrad

When I was a child and heard about angels, I was both frightened and fascinated by the thought of these enormous, invisible presences in our midst. I conceived of them not as white-robed androgynes with yellow locks and thick gold wings, which was how my friend Matty Wilson had described them to me
Matty was the predecessor of all sorts of arcane knowledge
but as big, dark, blundering men, massive in their weightlessness, given to pranks and ponderous play, who might knock you over, or break you in half, without meaning to. When a child from Miss Molyneaux's infant school in Carrickdrum fell under the hoofs of a dray-horse one day and was trampled to death, I, a watchful six year old, knew who was to blame; I pictured his guardian angel standing over the child's crushed form with his big hands helplessly extended, not sure whether to be contrite or to laugh. ~ John Banville

Rider's head snapped up at the sound of gravel crunching under Willow's boots. The sight of the girl in boy's garb birthed an oath. Beneath her cotton shirt, her breasts bounced freely with each step. And within the tight mannish pants, her hips swung in an unconscious rhythm, clearly proclaiming her all woman. Hell, she might as well be naked! His body's reaction was immediate.
Cursing his lack of control, he turned sideways, facing her horse, and pretended to adjust the saddle straps.
Willow took Sugar's reins and waited for Rider to move aside. He didn't budge an inch. Instead, he tipped his hat back on his head, revealing undisguised disapproval. "Is that the way you always dress?" he bit out.
Willow stiffened, immediately defensive. Criticizing herself was one thing; putting up with Sinclair's disdain was another! "If you were expecting a dress, you're crazy!" she snapped. "It would be suicide in this country."
"Haven't you ever heard of riding skirts?"
"Yes. I'm not as dumb as you seem to think. But fancy riding skirts cost money I don't have. 'Sides, pants are a hell of a lot more useful on the ranch than some damn riding skirt! Now, if you're done jawing about my clothes, I'd like to get a move on before dark."
"Somebody ought to wash that barnyard mouth of yours,woman."
Willow rested her hand on her gun. "You can try, if you dare."
As if I'd draw on a woman, Rider cursed silently, stepping out of her way. As she hoisted herself ~ Charlotte McPherren

José

What now, José?
The party's over,
the lights are off,
the crowd's gone,
the night's gone cold,
what now, José?
what now, you?
you without a name,
who mocks the others,
you who write poetry
who love, protest?
what now, José?

You have no wife,
you have no speech
you have no affection,
you can't drink,
you can't smoke,
you can't even spit,
the night's gone cold,
the day didn't come,
the tram didn't come,
laughter didn't come
utopia didn't come
and everything ended
and everything fled
and everything rotted
what now, José?

what now, José?
Your sweet words,
your instance of fever,
your feasting and fasting,
your library,
your gold mine,
your glass suit,
your incoherence,
your hate - what now?

Key in hand
you want to open the door,
but no door exists;
you want to die in the sea,
but the sea has dried;
you want to go to Minas
but Minas is no longer there.
José, what now?

If you screamed,
if you moaned,
if you played
a Viennese waltz,
if you slept,
if you tired,
if you died…
But you don't die,
you're stubborn, José!

Alone in the dark
like a wild animal,
without tradition,
without a naked wall
to lean against,
without a black horse
that flees gallopin ~ Carlos Drummond De Andrade

As I prepare to leave she walks with me, half deaf and blind, under several ladders in her living room that balance paint and workmen, into the garden where there is a wild horse, a 1930 car splayed flat on its axles and hundreds of flowering bushes so that her eyes swim out into the dark green and unfocussed purple. There is very little now that separates the house from the garden. Rain and vines and chickens move into the building. Before I leave, she points to a group photograph of a fancy dress party that shows herself and my grandmother Lalla among the crowd. She has looked at it for years and has in this way memorized everyone's place in the picture. She reels off names and laughs at the facial expressions she can no longer see. It has moved, tangible, palpable, into her brain, the way memory invades the present in those who are old, the way gardens invade houses here, the way her tiny body steps into mine as intimate as anything I have witnessed and I have to force myself to be gentle with this frailty in the midst of my embrace. ~ Michael Ondaatje

Because I wanted you." He turned from the window to face me. "More than I ever wanted anything in my life," he added softly.

I continued staring at him, dumbstruck. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't this. Seeing my openmouthed expression, he continued lightly. "When I asked my da how ye knew which was the right woman, he told me when the time came, I'd have no doubt. And I didn't. When I woke in the dark under that tree on the road to Leoch, with you sitting on my chest, cursing me for bleeding to death, I said to myself, 'Jamie Fraser, for all ye canna see what she looks like, and for all she weighs as much as a good draft horse, this is the woman'"

I started toward him, and he backed away, talking rapidly. "I said to myself, 'She's mended ye twice in as many hours, me lad; life amongst the MacKenzies being what it is, it might be as well to wed a woman as can stanch a wound and set broken bones.' And I said to myself, 'Jamie, lad, if her touch feels so bonny on your collarbone, imagine what it might feel like lower down...'"

He dodged around a chair. "Of course, I thought it might ha' just been the effects of spending four months in a monastery, without benefit of female companionship, but then that ride through the dark together"--he paused to sigh theatrically, neatly evading my grab at his sleeve--"with that lovely broad arse wedged between my thighs"--he ducked a blow aimed at his left ear and sidestepped, getting a low table betw ~ Diana Gabaldon

Now, did you really mean that about not wanting to do this the rest of your life?" he asked. That familiar, playful grin appeared in the corner of his mouth.
I blinked a couple of times and took a deep breath, smiling back at him and reassuring him with my eyes that no, I hadn't meant it, but I did hate his horse. Then I took a deep breath, stood up, and dusted off my Anne Klein straight-leg jeans.
"Hey, we don't have to do this now," Marlboro Man said, standing back up. "I'll just do it later."
"No, I'm fine," I answered, walking back toward my horse with newfound resolve.
I took another deep breath and climbed back on the horse. As Marlboro Man and I rode back toward the thicket of trees, I suddenly understood: if I was going to marry this man, if I was going to live on this isolated ranch, if I was going to survive without cappuccino and takeout food…I sure wasn't going to let this horse beat me. I'd have to toughen up and face things.
As we rode, it became even more clear. I'd have to apply this same courage to all areas of my life--not just the practical, day-in and day-out activities of ranch life, but also the reality of my parents' marital collapse and any other problems that would arise in the coming years. Suddenly, running off and getting married no longer seemed like the romantic adventures I was trying to convince myself it would be. Suddenly I realized that if I did that, if I ran away and said "I do" in some dark, hidden corner of the ~ Ree Drummond

Any artist that is even surviving right now is a dark horse because things change pretty fast. You're a superstar one day and wake up the next day and you're anonymous. To be successful in any way is beating the odds right now, I think. ~ Chad Kroeger

Ildiko clutched his arm, unwilling to have him leave her side. "I enjoy your touch, Brishen."

The stiffness eased from his shoulders. He gave her a wry look and pressed his palm to the pale expanse of skin just below her collarbones. His hand rose and fell in quick time to her breathing. "I believe you, but this tells me you fear it as well."

She winced. "Your teeth are so...sharp."

"They are, but I'm not careless, wife. And if, for some unfathomable reason, I accidently bite you, you're welcome to bite me back."

His attempt at humor worked, and Ildiko chuckled. "Brishen - " She offered him a toothy grin. "These wouldn't do much damage."

He traced the line of her collarbones with the rough pads of his fingers, their dark claws a whisper of movement across her flesh. "You have obviously never been badly bitten by a horse. ~ Grace Draven

She should be more frightened herself, she knew. She was only ten, a skinny girl on a stolen horse with a dark forest ahead of her and men behind who would gladly cut off her feet. Yet somehow she felt calmer than ever had in Harrenhal. The rain had washed the guard's blood off her fingers, she wore a sword across her back, wolves were prowling through the dark like lean grey shadows, and Arya Stark was unafraid. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she whispered under her breath, the words that Syrio Forel had taught her, and Jaqen's words too, valar morghulis. ~ George R R Martin

WORRY NOT, PRINCESS," Ironhorse said, and I gaped at him, not believing my eyes. Where a horse had been, now a man stood before me, dark and massive, with a square jaw and fists the size of hams. He wore jeans and a black shirt that bulged with all the muscles underneath, the skin stretched tight over steely tendons. Dreadlocks spilled from his scalp like a mane, and his eyes still burned with that intense red glow. "YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH A FEW TRICKS UP YOUR SLEEVE, GOODFELLOW," he said, a faint smirk beneath his voice. "NOW, GO. I WILL BE RIGHT BEHIND YOU. ~ Julie Kagawa

Sometimes bad shit happens, and you have to protect the people you love," Leon said. "It would be nice if you can do that and keep your hands clean but life doesn't work that way. Life is messy, and sometimes you must do what needs to be done to keep your family safe. It doesn't make you a bad person."
I'd have to thank Kurt.
"One day some other Prime will threaten our House, and when that day comes, I'll hill him."
What?
"I'll do it quiet and clean, and nobody will ever know." Leon smiled. "I'm going to be a dark horse, House Baylor's secret. I'll be the best assassin. A legend. They'll never see me coming."
I would kill Kurt. I would strangle him with my bare hands. ~ Ilona Andrews

He..said..in the oratory to which he was prone that they had witnessed a thing against which time would not prevail. He meant a thing to be remembered, but the young apostate by the rail at his elbow had already begun to sicken at the slow seeping of life. He could see the shape of the skull through the old man's flesh. Hear sand in the glass. Lives running out like something foul, night-soil from a cesspipe, a measured dripping in the dark. The clock has run, the horse has run, and which has measured which? ~ Cormac McCarthy

He curled his finger under her chin as he rasped, "I'm goin' tae get it right this time, you know."
"I believe that, Scot." She gazed up at him with all the love she felt. "That's why you're still the dark horse I'm betting on. ~ Kresley Cole

But you just got laid. Very well, I might add. Isn't that enough to tide you over for a while?"
"Maybe for a woman. But if a man doesn't use the goods, they shrivel up - "
She rolled her eyes.
" - and now that I've realized what I've been missing, and you've done such a great job getting me back up on the horse, for which I'm immensely grateful, then I think I'm ready to spread my wings." He motioned to the wing spreading area. His groin. "This really shouldn't go to waste, now, should it? ~ Kate Meader

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them? Every part of the Earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clear and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people.The perfumed flowers are our sisters, the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and the man, all belong to the same family. ~ Chief Seattle

I heard nothing, but ever more clearly as the light of the half-moon grew sharper, I thought I could make out a dark shape, and soon, as it came nearer, I saw it. It sat on a horse, a high-boned, haggard white horse. A dark mantle fluttered across the figure's shoulders, and as he flew past, two burning eyes stared at me out of a pale face. ~ Theodor Storm

Sailing heart-ships through broken harbors out on the waves of the night, still the searcher must ride the dark horse racing alone in his fright. ~ Neil Young

I cannot really play. Either at piano or at life; never, never have I been able to. I have always been too hasty, too impatient; something always intervenes and breaks it up. But who really knows how to play, and if he does know, what good is it to him? Is the great dark less dark for that, are the unanswerable questions less inscrutable, does the pain of despair at eternal inadequacy burn less fiercely, and can life ever be explained and seized and ridden like a tamed horse or is it always a mighty sail that carries us in the storm and, when we try to seize it, sweep us into the deep? Sometimes there is a hole in me that seems to extend to the center of the earth. What could fill it? Yearning? Dispair? Happiness? What happiness? Fatigue? Resignation? Death? What am I alive for? Yes, for what am I alive? ~ Erich Maria Remarque

As he catches my eye he beams at me, his dark face bright with affection. Anyone can see it who cares to look at him, he is hopelessly indiscreet. He puts his hand to his heart as if swearing fidelity to me. I look to left and right, thank God no-one is looking, they are all getting on their horses and George the duke is shouting for the guard. Recklessly, Richard stands there, his hand on his heart, looking at me as if he wants the world to know that he loves me.

He loves me.

I shake my head as if reproving him, and I look down at my hands on the reins. I look up again and he is still fixing his gaze on me, his hand still on his heart. I know I should look away, I know I should pretend to feel nothing but disdain – this is how the ladies in the troubadour poems behave. But I am a girl, and I am lonely and alone, and this is a handsome young man who has asked how he may serve me and now stands before me with his hand on his heart and his eyes laughing at me.

One of the guard stumbled while mounting his horse and his horse shied, knocking the nearby horseman. Everyone is looking that way, and the king puts his arm around his wife. I snatch off my glove and, in one swift gesture, I throw it towards Richard. He catches it out of the air and tucks it in the breast of his jacket. Nobody has seen it. Nobody knows. The guardsman steadies his horse, mounts it, nods his apology to his captain, and the royal family turn and wave to us.

Richar ~ Philippa Gregory

Those treasures were stolen from the village they destroyed. The
man pulled out a carved wooden horse and the two boys grabbed it at the
same time. They pulled at it, fighting for possession.
Zane's carving. He shook his head and looked away, fighting tears. His
son's skilled fingers could carve any image. He'd inherited his mother's
slender hands.
Sweet revenge just became sweeter. ~ Jennifer M. Zeiger

The dark-haired clothes horse, who generally meant well, was a dufus, but he was family ~ Tina Folsom

How the horse dominated the mind of the early races especially of the Mediterranean! You were a lord if you had a horse. Far back, far back in our dark soul the horse prances ... The horse, the horse! The symbol of surging potency and power of movement, of action in man! ~ D.H. Lawrence

In Montana, when we did 'Return to Lonesome Dove', we rode on the side of a hill at night in the dark; I was afraid my horse would step on one of the actors playing dead. The director said to leave it to the stunt doubles since they got paid for that. ~ William Sanderson

That night, after the lates had been cleared, Robb carried Bran up to bed himself. Grey Wind led the way, and Summer came close behind. His brother was strong for his age, and Bran was as light as a bundle of rags, but the stairs were steep and dark, and Robb was breathing hard by the time they reached the top.

He put Bran into bed, covered him with blankets, and blew out the candle. For a time Robb sat beside him in the dark. Bran wanted to talk to him, but he did not know what to say. "We'll find a horse for you, I promise," Robb whispered at last.

"Are they ever coming back?" Bran asked him.

"Yes," Robb said with such hope in his voice that Bran knew he was hearing his brother and not just Robb the Lord. "Mother will be home soon. Maybe we can ride out to meet her when she comes. Wouldn't that surprise her, to see you ahorse?" Even in the dark room, Bran could feel his brother's smile. "And afterward, we'll ride north to see the Wall. We won't even tell Jon we're coming, we'll just be there one day, you and me. It will be an adventure."

"An adventure," Bran repeated wistfully. He heard his brother sob. The room was so dark he could not see the tears on Robb's face, so he reached out and found his hand. Their fingers twined together. ~ George R.R. Martin

You know, Mac,"Cadmus said still looking out the window. "We may have to work on the way we tell our story …apparently it's not amusing enough."

"I'll try to include a joke between 'he bled to death'and 'the city burned'."Machaon responded tersely. ~ Sulari Gentill

To live with tremendous and proud composure; always beyond - . To have and not to have one's affects, one's pro and con, at will; to condescend to them, for a few hours; to seat oneself on them as on a horse, often as on an ass - for one must know how to make use of their stupidity as much as of their fire. To reserve one's three hundred foregrounds; also the dark glasses; for there are cases when nobody may look into our eyes, still less into our "grounds." And to choose for company that impish and cheerful vice, courtesy. And to remain master of one's four virtues: of courage, insight, sympathy, and solitude. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Kate Winslet [for Steve Jobs movie, 2015] is the darling. If you wanna be the king you gotta kill the king. I think Charlotte [Rampling] is the dark horse on this one. No one does classic beauty better than her. ~ Bun B.

CHORONZON: I am a dire wolf, prey-stalking, lethal prowler.
MORPHEUS: I am a hunter, horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing.
CHORONZON: I am a horsefly, horse-stinging, hunter-throwing.
MORPHEUS: I am a spider, fly-consuming, eight legged.
CHORONZON: I am a snake, spider-devouring, posion-toothed.
MORPHEUS: I am an ox, snake-crushing, heavy-footed.
CHORONZON: I am an anthrax, butcher bacterium, warm-life destroying.
MORPHEUS: I am a world, space-floating, life-nurturing.
CHORONZON: I am a nova, all-exploding ... planet-cremating.
MORPHEUS: I am the Universe
all things encompassing, all life embracing.
CHORONZON: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds ... of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?
MORPHEUS: I am hope. ~ Neil Gaiman

I started to respond, but Bambi slithered up and placed its horse-sized head on my shoulder. Every muscle in my body locked up and I squeezed my eyes shut. There was a puff of air, stirring the hair along my temple. Bambi's forked tongue shot out, tickling the side of my neck.
"Hey, look, Bambi likes you."
I pried one eye open.
"And if she didn't?"
"Oh, you'd know, 'cause she would've eaten you by now."
Armentrout, Jennifer L. (2014-03-01). White Hot Kiss (The Dark Elements Book 1) (p. 255). Harlequin. Kindle Edition. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

If, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if I shall touch that workman's arm with some ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind! Bear me out in it, thou great Democratic God! who didst not refuse to the swart convict Bunyan, the pale poetic pearl; Thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of old Cervantes; Thou who didst pick up Andrew Jackson from the pebbles; who didst hurl him upon a war horse; who didst thunder him higher than a throne! Thou who, in all thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest Thy selectest champions from the kingly commons; bear me out in it, O God! ~ Herman Melville