A Quote by Charles Marion Russell

The cowboy doesn't need an iron horse, but covers his country on one that eats grass and wears hair. — © Charles Marion Russell
The cowboy doesn't need an iron horse, but covers his country on one that eats grass and wears hair.
Have you ever noticed the perfection of nature? The seasons and how one changes into the next, the falling leaves, composting soil, rains, new seedlings, sunshine, growth, blossoms, etc. Grass grows, deer eats grass, lion eats deer, deer population is stabilized so there is grass for other animals; sunrise and sunset, boy and girl, winter and summer.
That devilish Iron Horse, whose ear-rending neigh is heard throughout the town, has muddied the Boiling Spring with his foot, and he it is that has browsed off all the woods on Walden shore, that Trojan horse, with a thousand men in his belly, introduced by mercenary Greeks! Where is the country's champion, the Moore of Moore Hall, to meet him at the Deep Cut and thrust an avenging lance between the ribs of the bloated pest?
The real key to Jack's [Nicklaus] success was his fantastic ability to score. His drives sometimes went into the rough, but he could plow the ball out of the tallest grass and get it on the green; bad lies simply didn't affect him as they did the others. Jack also got tremendous height with his one-iron and two-iron, which meant that he could stop them better than his rivals.
All I can hope to do is instill great morality in my son and trust him along the way. The music he listens to or how he chooses to wear his hair doesn't define his moral compass, and if he wants to listen to country music and wear a cowboy hat too, that's fine.
There is a horse here-the furthest north of any horse, and he eats fish and travels on snowshoes.
A man's country is not a certain area of land, of mountains, rivers, and woods, but it is a principle: and patriotism is loyalty to that principle. In poetic minds and in popular enthusiasm this feeling becomes closely associated with the soil and the symbols of the country. But the secret sanctification of the soil and the symbol is the idea which they represent, and this idea the patriot worships through the name and the symbol, as a lover kisses with rapture the glove of his mistress and wears a lock of her hair upon his heart.
In a snowfall that covers the winter grass a white heron uses his own whiteness to disappear.
A horse doesn't know whether the rider on his back wears a dress or pants away from the track.
Dirt rolls from his palm, Blades of grass Tumble from his hair.
Just as rust, which arose from the iron itself, wears out the iron, likewise, performing an action without examination would destroy us by projecting us into a negative state of existence.
When I ask my medical students to describe their image of a woman who elects to birth with a midwife rather than with an obstetrician, they generally describe a woman who wears long cotton skirts, braids her hair, eats only organic vegan food, does yoga, and maybe drives a VW microbus.
The two biggest meals of your life you don't have to cook and you don't get to eat. The first you don't eat because no man eats - or cares what he eats - at his wedding. The second you don't eat because, well, no man eats at his funeral, either.
The color of somebody's skin or the way he wears his hair or clothes has nothing to do with anything.
It gives one a sudden start in going down a barren, stoney street, to see upon a narrow strip of grass, just within the iron fence, the radiant dandelion, shining in the grass, like a spark dropped from the sun.
She eats grass. Don’t ask.
Let him ride a horse. He's a cowboy ain't he?
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