As he farmed, hard labor left his hands callused, the sun bleached his hair, his face leathered, and his heart throbbed with music.

Brenda Sutton Rose
About This Quote

There is a saying that hard work leaves the hands callused with no beauty or softness. This quote does not mean that hard workers are ugly or old looking adults, this means that hard work will leave you without the things that make you beautiful. It can leave your hair grey, your face leathered, and your heart throbed with music. As you will spend most of your life working, it is very important to make sure you make the most of what you have. Even though the work may be painful, you should enjoy it.

Source: Dogwood Blues

Some Similar Quotes
  1. This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. - William Shakespeare
  2. And, in the end The love you takeis equal to the love you make. - Paul Mccartney
  3. Life, he realize, was much like a song. In the beginning there is mystery, in the end there is confirmation, but it's in the middle where all the emotion resides to make the whole thing worthwhile. - Nicholas Sparks
  4. You're like a song that I heard when I was a little kid but forgot I knew until I heard it again. - Maggie Stiefvater
  5. Live your truth. Express your love. Share your enthusiasm. Take action towards your dreams. Walk your talk. Dance and sing to your music. Embrace your blessings. Make today worth remembering. - Steve Maraboli
More Quotes By Brenda Sutton Rose
  1. The truth had lacerated him to the bone, had punctured his heart, and had ripped through his soul. The truth had slain him and tended to his wounds. The truth had hated him and loved him. The truth had opened his eyes to his own...
  2. My mother’s dress bears the stains of her life:blueberries, blood, bleach, and breast milk; She cradles in her arms a lifetime of love and sorrow; Its brilliance nearly blinds me.
  3. The guitar poured out its soul, its history, its dreams, its pain, its victories, its secrets. The guitar’s strings purred with blues and ended with a haunting solitary song with no lyrics.
  4. The guitar breathed. It inhaled and exhaled, and music filled the shop as the instrument picked the heartbreak of generations.
  5. A real musician ain’t gonna choose his own guitar like an evil master choosing his slave. The guitar will choose his master and when he does, you’ll know it.
Related Topics