Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Paw Prints. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Paw Prints Quotes And Sayings by 98 Authors including Erin Hunter,Sally Smith O'rourke,Katrina Cope,Judy Blume,Robert Breault for you to enjoy and share.
You cannot live with a paw in each world.
Even now, after a lifetime of human companionship, I am hard-pressed to understand fully mankind's fascination with those little marks that they so carefully impress on sheets of paper.
a furtive groove
Our finger prints don't fade from the lives we touch.
God left so many fingerprints at the scene of Creation that you wonder - does He want to be found, or does He want to be stopped?
Look at the footprints you've made.
Wolves never look more funny than when they have lost the scent and scrabble to find it again: they hop in the air; they run in circles, they plow up the ground with their noses ...
God leaves footprints wherever He goes;
love alone uncovers them.
On a soft snow, even a sparrow leaves a trace; the important thing is to leave a trace on a steel plate!
Your hooves have stamped at the black margin of the wood,
Even where horrible green parrots call and swing.
My works are all stamped down into the sultry mud.
Tail wagging like a windscreen wiper in a downpour.
I leave marks on you, not the other way around.
Sounds to me like those nails are touching too much gray matter.
Shaggy wrapper, flapping hat, and muddy legs, was rather
That's right, baby. Scratch me up. Make your mark. I wanna look at my body later and know who I belong to.
The skin of moss / holds the footprints of / star-footed birds.
The marks humans leave are to often scars
Do you know how we tell the difference between black bear and grizzly bear scat back in Wyoming? Black bear droppings have berries and the Grizzly bear droppings contain little bells and smell like pepper.
Footprints are an amazing thing, even the ones you can't see. They make you wonder who's walked right where you're walking. Who's travelled this same path? What were their concerns? Who did they love? Are they still alive?
Meaning to ask, where'd all them scratches come from? Lookin like you had yourself a knife fight with a dwarf, aye?
Even if you buy a fur glove with the little trim, and you think 'Oh, my God, it's just a little trim,' that animal got clubbed.
Wet catkins fur the twigs of a willow.
Noses run. Feet smell.
Does koala bear poop smell like cough drops?
What's better? Dogs or broomsticks? I mean will the world really ever know?
My feet are dogs.
The little shit was standing on it like he owned it, wet, sandy paws and all. Arf, arf!
There is the little matter of disposal of droppings in which the cat is far ahead of its rivals. The dog is somehow thrilled by what he or any of his friends have produced, hates to leave it, adores smelling it, and sometimes eats it.
If you close your eyes on a busy urban sidewalk the sound of everybody's different footwear's footsteps all put together sounds like something getting chewed by something huge and tireless and patient.
Some friends leave footprints in your heart
The marks humans leave are too ofter scars.
If you do big things they print your face, and if you do little things they print only your thumbs.
If you look back at my story, it doesn't matter where you look, but God's fingerprints are all over the place.
I often had to pass over photographs because in a mass of animals invariably one would be wandering in the wrong direction, thereby disrupting the pattern I was trying to achieve. Today the ability to digitally alter this disruption is at hand.
We stepped carefully, so softly, over thorny plants. The dust had turned to mud, splattering our shoes, socks, and legs. By the time we reached the boat, our clothes were clinging to our flesh and stained with the bloody remains of mosquitoes.
Every step we take leaves a trace.
He left his hoofprints burnt into my heart
Bloody Bears, don't bother getting one as a pet, they're too demanding and they shed everywhere.
Clothes I wear for mushroom hunting are rarely sent to the cleaner. They constitute a collection of odors I produce and gather while rambling in the woods. I notice not only dogs (cats, too) are delighted (they love to smell me).
Hard wooden stamp followed by the softer shoed footfall - and
Stripes on their backs. The twentieth century
Excuse me, sir, you got dog poop on your shoe.
How I love the first snow ... unbroken and white, before it's ruined by footprints.
Dogs look at you with both eyes open. Emotions on a sleeve, that wagging tail
We leave traces of ourselves wherever we go, on whatever we touch.
watching trails of mist swirl about your legs, which reminds you of a neighbor's gray kitten that arches its back, puffs up, and rubs against your ankles.
The other package has pieces of dried stag stick. The pups like chewing on those."
"What's a stag stick?" Meg asked, taking the packages.
He stared at her for a moment. Then he put a fist below his belt and popped out a thumb.
"Oh," Meg said. "Oh.
How do you know they're growing up? Well, the bite marks are higher.
onanists breaking a sweat on monkeys, ponies, birds;
I wanted to rub handprints through his dust
When fully fluffed they looked like oversized wads of dryer lint with six little paws and two big, innocent blue eyes.
grave goods by themselves. 9. Hunter-gatherers made these handprints about 9,000 years ago in the 'Hands Cave', in Argentina. It looks as if these long-dead hands are reaching towards us from within the rock. This is one of the most moving relics of the ancient forager
I didn't hear the footsteps. Or see the shadow. Instead from where I was crouched on the ground, the green of the grass filling my vision, the first thing I made out were hands, a flat silver ring on the middle finger of each. One was clutching my notes. The other was reaching out for me.
Here and there and everywhere . . . puppies, puppies, puppies!
I am clouded and bruised with the print of minds and faces and things so subtle that they have smell, colour, texture, substance, but no name.
Animals are footprints of God.
the sleeves of my chocolate-scented T-shirt.
systematically looking at each of the fly-covered tattoos on one of the walls.
Well, clearly not. Goodness boss, just look at those filthy paws. I've never seen any fish carry paws like those. Usually they are cleaner.
I want to know the age. The sex. Most of all, the fingerprints. I'd like to identify who it is.
After he had agreed, and I had left the office, walking to calm myself, I thought: And who am I? Please tell me who I am and what I'm doing.
Guards! Summon the holy kitty litter! Mr. Scruffy demands poopsies!
Your fingerprints are your fingerprints
what to say about the
prints of your inner being? They are going to be separate, unique, incomparable.
If I didn't have fake nails, my fingers would be bloody stumps.
Scratch the surface, and there's just more surface - chalk dust under your nails, but not much else. What you see, as they say, is what you get.
They wiped his paws on a good bath towel whenever he came in with wet feet, because they had not been married long enough to have an old bath towel,
Barking spiders!
Imprinting."
I heard the smile disappear from Cat's face. "Next."
I repeated myself.
"Are you referring to Stephenie Meyer's books?"
"Yes," I said. A little unwillingly.
Cat chuckled. "There's no shame in reading enjoyable books. But this topic is better discussed later."
"Got it.
Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers.
inferred by the pattern to either side, the small pyramidal bumps rising from the flat steel with their crisp edges and flecks of paint. Holston lifted an old boot to an old step, pressed down,
When time marches on, it steps on your nose and tail, and leaves boot prints down your back.
They're not poodles, they're art.
It was about three feet wide and stippled
The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where can I have dropped them, I wonder?
Those who will play with cats must expect to be scratched.
four tumbling, squealing cubs,
Every moment ... leaves a footprint ... sometime its visible ... sometime its not ...
I rubbed my left forearm and hand, the entirety of which was now covered in swirls and whorls of black ink. Even my fingers weren't spared, and a large eye was tattooed in the center of my palm. It was feline, and its slitted pupil stared right back at me.
Sometime you have to stop and smell the puppy.
If at one time or another I have brushed a few colleagues the wrong way, I must apologize: I had not realized that they were covered with fur.
If I see a single scratch or nick on those, I'll spell forgive me on your chest in bullet holes.
I see things, that's all. Write enough stories and every shadow on the floor looks like a footprint; every line in the dirt like a secret message.
Those monkey-thumbs were meant for dogs. Give me my thumbs, you fu**ing monkeys!
Whiskers of the cat, Webbed toes on my swimming dog; God is in the details.
Don't ever call me "kitten paws" again and don't tell me I need acting lessons or the next thing you'll be eating between two slices of bread will be a certain supersensitive part of your anatomy.
My dogs love me. Of course, by love I mean poop and by me I mean everywhere.
In the center was a tiny handprint in red paint.
Cats have intercepted my footsteps at the ankle for so long that my gait, both at home and on tour, has been compared to that of a man wading through low surf.
The scratching came from the attic. At night, when Rory turned out the light I would lie awake and wait for it to skit, skit, skit lightly across the floorboards above our heads and down behind the water pipes.
Stretched and skewed
Tap of the 8-ball and the cue
Scratches fall through
They are the scars of you
Dogs read the world through their noses and write their history in urine.
human handprint made about 30,000 years ago, on the wall of the Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc Cave in southern France. Somebody tried to say, 'I was here!
You mean less to me than the dog st I scraped off the bottom of my shoe!
Only dogs and cowards licked the boot that kicked them.
My cat, Ethel, is an indoor cat but somehow she's sneakin' out at night. 'Cause the other morning I found a stamp on her paw ... I wouldn't have noticed myself, but I just bought this new black light and she passed right under it and I said, 'Hey, what's that on you paw?
Maybe hands were like memory foam mattresses, carrying the imprint of people they've loved forever.
Footsteps are the wonders of staying alive to move forward
For God's sake, Marks, do you think anyone really wants a glance at those dried-up matchsticks you call legs?
the dog Harry was in the way back.
A fine layer of ash had blown into the carport, showing a single set of cat prints going from the side of the house to the cat hatch built into my door. People in Minnesota see things like this with snow.
Fingers of wind combed the lake into ridges - icy palm prints glistened wherever it rested