Thompson Seton Quotes

Not Carnegie, Vanderbilt, and Astor together could have raised money enough to buy a quarter share in my little dog.

The culture and civilization of the White man are essentially material; his measure of success is, "How much property have I acquired for myself?" The culture of the Red man is fundamentally spiritual; his measure of success is, "How much service have I rendered to my people?

Next day on returning I found him dead in the snow with his head on the sill of the door—the door of his puppyhood's days; my dog to the last in his heart of hearts—it was my help he sought, and vainly sought, in the hour of his bitter extremity.

A lion shorn of his strength, an eagle robbed of his freedom, or a dove bereft of his mate, all die, it is said, of a broken heart; and who will aver that this grim bandit could bear the threefold brunt, heart-whole? This only I know, that when the morning dawned, he was lying there still in his position of calm repose, but his spirit was gone-the old king-wolf was dead.

Thar is two things that every national crisis is bound to show up: first, a lot o' dum fools in command; second, lot o great commanders in the ranks. An' fortunately before the crisis is over the hull thing is sure set right, and the men is where they oughter be.

Děvče šlo domů a vyprávělo podivný příběh o zářícím lišákovi s laskavýma očima – příběh, kterému věřili jen hodně mladí a hodně staří lidé; totiž ti, kteří porozuměli dítěti, a ti, kteří porozuměli lišákovi.

The leader cried out 'hawk, hawk,' Caw, Caw, and stayed his flight,as did each crow on nearing him, until all were in a solid body.

Sweepstakes

Vůně se do paměti vtisknou mnohem silněji než ostatní vjemy. Indiáni to vědí. Mnozí z nich časem najdou vůni, která jim znovu přivolá nejšťastnější chvíle, a nosí ji ve svém vaku s medicínou. Ta hrstka borového jehličí, hrudka pižma či kousek ztvrdlé smrkové pryskyřice jsou jim velice drahé. Přidává to k jejich snění šťastné vzpomínky.

Každý muž i chlapec v Sangeru uměl výborně zacházet se sekerou a byl velice šikovný. Známé rčení „Je to dobrej chlap“ mělo dva uznávané významy. Pokud byl takto označen osadník při pravidelné sobotní irské rvačce v městečku zvaném Downeyho Díra, znamenalo to, že se umí dobře ohánět pěstmi. Ale pokud jím byl obdařen muž doma na farmě, vztahovalo se k jeho výjimečné zručnosti při zacházení se sekerou. Mužem, který byl horší než ostatní, všichni pohrdali. A jelikož domy z přitesaných klád stavěli sami jejich majitelé, bylo jasně vidět, co kdo umí.

Jednou je v lese zastihl pořádný liják a oni se ještě rádi schovali ve svém pochmurném příbytku, jenomže dovnitř pršelo nejen kouřovým otvorem, ale také stěnami, a tak jim vigvam příliš velkou ochranu neposkytoval. „Se mně zdá, že je tu spíš víc mokro než venku,“ podotkl Sam a mokří jako myši vyrazili domů.

„Pane Clarku, zabloudil jste někdy?“ pokračoval neúnavný tazatel. „Jasně že zabloudil, a ne jednou. Každej, kdo se vydá do lesa, občas zabloudí.“ „Co – indiáni taky?“ „Samozřejmě! Proč ne? Jsou to taky lidi, a povim vám, že když někoho uslyšíte, jak se chlubí, že se nikdá neztratil, tak poznáte, že se nikdy nepustil matčiný zástěry. Každej zabloudí, ale skutečnej zálesák se z toho dostane. V tom je ten rozdíl.

So I have learned to love and venerate the honker Wild Goose whom Mother Nature dowered with love unquenchable, constructed for her own good ends a monument of faithfulness unchanging, a creature heir of all the promises, so master of the hostile world around that he lives and spreads, defying plagues and beasts, and I wonder if this secret is not partly that the wise and patient mother leads.

The sandflies fluttered over him and the Plovers whistled along the shore as he lay, when the sun arose, but the All-mother was kind, had blown the grass about him; it hid him from the hungry Gull and from the sun’s noon rays. The little tide of mid-ocean rose on the beach but did not reach him in his deathlike sleep. The second tide had risen and gone, and the sun had sunk in the dark western waters before he stirred.

Now sped he like a pirate of the air. Now fled she like a flying yacht gold-laden, away, away, and the warm wind whistled, left behind. But the pirate surely wins when the prize is not averse to being taken. Not many a span of the winding stream, not many a wing-beat of that flight ere Atalapha was skimming side by side with a glorified Silver-brown. How rich and warm was that coat. How gentle, alluring the form and the exquisite presence that told without sounds of a spirit that also had hungered.

And who shall tell the history of his bright young jailers at the mill? Little is known but this: the pestilence born of the flies alighted on that home, and when the grim one left it there were two new mounds, short mounds in the sleeping ground that is overlooked by the wooden tower. Who can tell us what snowflake set the avalanche a-rolling, or what was the one, the very spark which, quenched, had saved the royal city from the flames. This only did we know: that the Bats were destroying the bearers of the plague about that house; many Bats had fallen by the gun, and the plague struck in that house where the blow was hardest to be borne. We do not know. It is a chain with many links; we have not the light to see; and the only guide that is always safe to follow in the gloom is the golden thread of kindness, the gospel of Assisi’s Saint.

Twice nightly they went flying with Mother to the long wet valley through the timber, and though at first they wearied before they had covered thrice the length of the Beaver ponds, their strength grew quickly, and the late Thunder Moon saw them nearly full grown, strong on the wing, and rejoicing in the power of flight. Oh what a joy it was, when the last streak of light was gone from the western world rim, to scramble to the hole and launch into the air – one, two, three- Mother, Brother, and Little Brother to go kiting, scooting, circling, sailing, diving, and soaring – with flutter, wheel, and downward plunge. Then sharp with huger they would dart for the big abounding game – great fat Luna moths, roaring June-bugs, luscious cecropias, and a thousand smaller gave were whizzing and flitting on every side, a plenteous feast for those of wings of speed.

The sunset of the forest had given the signal to robin and tanager to begin their vesper song. The sunset of the mount had issued the dew-time call that conjures out of the caves and hollow trees the smallest of the winged Brownie folk, whose kingdom is the twilight and whose dance hall is high above the tree-tops.

I have always loved the Brownies so much, and so earnestly wished to believe in them, that I have taught myself to do so, and I want other to have that same pleasure.

Everything was in fine shape for the hunt. Everything was fitly ordered and we were well away when a disconcerting element tumbled in among us. With a yap of glee, there, bounding, came that full bull terrier, Silly Billy. Like a June-bug among honey bees, like a crazy schoolboy in a council room, he rollicked and yapped, eager to be first, to be last, to take liberties with Thunder, to chase the Rabbits, to bay the Squirrels, ready for anything but what was wanted of him; to stay home and mind his own business.

He was the biggest fool pup I ever saw, chuck full of life and spirits, always going at racing speed, generally into mischief; breaking his neck nearly over some small matter; breaking his heart if his master did not notice him, chewing up clothing, hats, and boots, digging up garden stuff that he could not eat, mistaking every leg of every chair and table for a lamp-post, going direct from wallow in the pigstye to frolic in the baby’s cradle, getting kicked in the ribs by horses and tossed by cows, but still the same hilarious, rollicking, endlessly good-natured, energetic fool pup, and given by common consent the fit and lasting name of “Silly Billy.