Quotes & Sayings About Calluses

Bittersweet is the idea that in all things there is both something broken and something beautiful, that there is a sliver of lightness on even the darkest of nights, a shadow of hope in every heartbreak, and that rejoicing is no less rich when it contains a splinter of sadness. Bittersweet is the practice of believing that we really do need both the bitter and the sweet, and that a life of nothing but sweetness rots both your teeth and your soul. Bitter is what makes us strong, what forces us to push through, what helps us earn the lines on our faces and the calluses on our hands. — Shauna Niequist

The calluses on your feet in space will eventually fall off. So, the bottoms of your feet become very soft like newborn baby feet. But the top of my feet develop rough alligator skin because I use the top of my feet to get around here on space station when using foot rails. — Scott Kelly

BLACK HAIR, BLUE EYES, GRACEFUL CHEEKBONES, THICK DARK LASHES, FULL MOUTH - HE WOULD HAVE BEEN PRETTY IF HE HAD NOT BEEN SO TALL AND SO MUSCULAR. SHE HAD RUN HER HANDS OVER THOSE ARMS. SHE KNEW WHAT THEY FELT LIKE - IRON, CORDED WITH HARD MUSCLES; HIS HANDS, WHEN THEY CUPPED THE BACK OF HER HEAD, SLIM AND FLEXIBLE BUT ROUGH WITH CALLUSES ... — Cassandra Clare

The harder you slam a ball into the ground, the higher it bounces back up ... A divorce, a breakup, losing a job, or just feeling seriously down can ground you, rough you up a bit, leave calluses on your feet and grit under your finger nails. But more than that, it leaves you wiser and stronger next time ... Life is about experiencing opposites isn't it? — Laurel House

I see you go bare-shod. This is most likely extremely sensible. Shoes are no end of trouble for girls ... How many have danced to death in slippers of silk and glass and fur and wood? Too many to count - the graveyards, they are so full these days. You are very wise to let your soles become grubby with mud, to let them grow their own slippers of moss and clay and calluses. This is far preferable to shoes which may become wicked at any moment. — Catherynne M Valente

For the first time in his life, Roland found himself hating his own childhood. He wished for the size and calluses and sureness of age. — Stephen King

It hurts, but that's all it does. The most difficult part of the training is training your mind. You build calluses on your feet to endure the road. You build calluses on your mind to endure the pain. There's only one way to do that. You have to get out there and run. — David Goggins

The string slices into the skin of his fingers and no matter how tough the calluses, it tears.
But this beat is fast and even though his joints are aching, his arm's out of control like it has a mind of its own and the sweat tat drenches his hair and face seems to smother him, but nothing's going to stop Tom. He;s aiming for oblivion. — Melina Marchetta

Then came time for her to marry. She had nine suitors. They all knelt round her in a circle. Standing in the middle like a princess, she did not know which one to choose: one was the handsomest, another the wittiest, the third was the richest, the fourth was most athletic, the fifth from the best family, the sixth recited verse, the seventh traveled widely, the eighth played the violin, and the ninth was the most manly. But they all knelt in the same way, they all had the same calluses on their knees. — Milan Kundera

When I came off the boat I was very proud of the thick calluses which had developed on my feet. But now, I am struggling to get into my favourite high heels which is a shame, as I have so many. — Pamela Stephenson

Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history's in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand. — Chuck Palahniuk

When I was younger, my feet would hurt a lot, but you build up calluses and strength, and you don't feel as much pain there. But then again, it's a give and take. The older you get, you may feel pain in your back or your hips. — Misty Copeland

You have to learn when to care, son. His father's voice. And when to let go. You'll grow calluses. He never had. Storm him, he never had. It was why he'd never made a good surgeon. He couldn't lose patients. — Brandon Sanderson

Have you ever been anyone's?" I ask, a feathery whisper in the quiet bedroom. He lifts his head to mine, and I want him so bad I feel consumed inside, like he's already possessed my soul, and now my soul aches for him to possess my body. A powerful emotion tightens his features as he reaches out to cradle my cheek in his big hand, and there's an unexpected fierceness in his eyes, in his touch, as he cups me. "No. And you?" The calluses in his palm rasp on my skin, and I find myself tucking my cheek deeper into them. "I've never wanted to." "Neither have I." The moment is intimate. — Katy Evans

It means eating your words, this thing of refusing to be a fence-sitter, but I'd rather eat my words than get calluses from sitting.
No one who has not experienced the condescension of a buyer toward an ordinary salesgirl can have any conception of its withering effect. — Mary Barnett Gilson

Standing in the middle of the cellar with a sickened look on his face, Alric said, "I can't believe I'm being subjected to this."

"Consider it a vacation," Hadrian suggested. "For at least one day you get to pretend you are nobody, a common peasant, the son of a blacksmith perhaps."

"No," Royce said, preparing his own sleeping space but keeping his boots on. "They might expect him to know things like how to use a hammer. And look at his hands. Anyone could tell he was lying."

"Most people have jobs that require the use of their hands, Royce," Hadrian pointed out. He spread his cloak over himself and turned on his side. "What could a common peasant do that monks wouldn't know the first thing about and wouldn't cause calluses?"

"He could be a thief or a whore."

They both looked at the prince, who cringed at his prospects. "I'm taking the cot," Alric said. — Michael J. Sullivan

Down here in the deep, dark South we know and live with the real world. Candy-Land idealism is quietlly suffocated in the relentless humidity. This is the world where fist meets face. This is where the calluses on a man's hand are bigger than his conscience, and dreams get drowned in sweat and tears. — Damien Echols

He was an enigma, John Pritkin: a mad scientist with gun calluses and old scars and even more secrets than me. — Karen Chance

Coming from where we do, it's a rough adjustment - living here." He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder, his calluses scratching against the fabric of her dress. "It's true what they say about life in the dark ages, you know: nasty, brutish, and short. You and I once took it for granted we would die as old people in our beds, but we have no such assurance now. I'll help you how I can, Isabella; but I can't guarantee that either of us will live even to see tomorrow. Life is worth fighting for, young lady. But don't feel it is something you're owed. — Kristin McTiernan

Revolutions require work, revolutions require sacrifice, revolutions, and our own included, require a certain amount of rationing, a certain amount of calluses, a certain amount of sacrifice — Lee Harvey Oswald

There once was a poor man who walked around without shoes. His feet were covered in calluses. One day a rich man felt sorry for the poor man and bought him a pair of Nikes. The poor man was extremely grateful and wore the shoes constantly.
Well after a year or so, the shoes fell apart. So the poor man had to go back to running around barefoot, only now all his calluses were gone and his feet got all cut up and soon the cuts became infected and the man got sick and eventually, after they cut off his legs, he died.
I call that particular story "Love, Death & Nikes." A real cheer me up story for Mr. Monster. That's right! All for you. Oh and something else: fuck you Mr. Monster. — Mark Z. Danielewski

I'm also old ... and my own gift for writing fantasy grows out of very literal-minded, pragmatic soil: the things I do when I'm not telling stories have always been pretty three-dimensional. I used to say that the only strong attraction reality ever had for me was horses and horseback riding, but I've also been cooking and going for long walks since I was a kid (yes, the two are related), and I'm getting even more three dimensionally biased as I get older - gardening, bell ringing ... piano playing ... And the stories I seem to need to write seem to need that kind of nourishment from me - how you feed your story telling varies from writer to writer. My story-telling faculty needs real-world fresh air and experiences that create calluses (and sometimes bruises). — Robin McKinley

In order to even begin to learn how to play his instrument, it takes the guitarist weeks to build calluses on his fingertips; it takes the saxophonist months to strengthen his lip so that he might play his instrument for only a five-minute stretch; it can take the pianist years to develop dual hand and multiple finger coordination. Why do writers assume they can just "write" with no training whatsoever-and then expect, on their first attempt, to be published internationally? What makes them think they're so much inherently greater, need so much less training than any other artists? — Noah Lukeman

Growing up a steward's daughter on the grand Greenwich estate afforded her many opportunities. But life changed one fateful night, a reminder of who and what she was. Since then, she labored hard, building calluses anew on her hands and heart, all in an effort to fall into a deep sleep every night and forget what had happened years ago. Many more years of hard work stretched ahead of her.
Why not sip champagne once more?
What harm could come of that? — Gina Conkle

Instinctively I started to panic when Dr. Martinez strapped my arm down, and
then the panic just melted away, la la la.
Someone took my other hand. Fang. I felt his calluses, his bones, his
strength.
"I'm so glad you're here," I slurred, smiling dopily up at him. I took in
his startled, worried expression but dismissed it. "I know everything's fine
if you're here."
I thought I saw his cheeks flush, but I wasn't too sure of anything anymore. — James Patterson

They say the face tells all there is to know about a life, but I personally believe much can be deduced from the hands. There are lines and scars, bumps and calluses; indeed, the hands are both the sketch and the final work of art. — Jacqueline Winspear

The golden rule for playing the bass is that's it all about feel, not just plonking away. You need to feel the sound, not using a pick or a plectrum - which has meant plenty of calluses on my fingers. — Suzi Quatro

His gaze locked with mine and a slow grin appeared on his face. He didn't look like he had last night. More like he did every day at school. Worn jeans. A black henley instead of a T-shirt and beat-up sneakers, but goodness, I couldn't think.
Okay. Not true. I could think, but I was thinking things I really had no concept of. I was thinking about those full, slightly curved lips and how they must feel in places...other than my forehead or cheek. I was thinking about his hands and how strong they were and the oddly pleasant calluses on his palms. I was thinking about...about a lot of things - things that now didn't feel so wrong since he was actually single.
Noticing my near-prone position, Ainsley looked over her shoulder. "Oh, my good God almighty," she murmured. "That's him?"
"Yes," I whispered. That was so him. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

Keep working. Keep trying. Keep believing. You still might not make it, but at least you gave it your best shot. If you don't have calluses on your soul, this isn't for you. Take up knitting instead. — David Eddings

When he grasped her hand, he felt the calluses on her palm. He was thinking about how tough she was, and then she smiled. It was tentative and brief but it touched his heart, and then she was gone. He watched while she disappeared over the hill and then took the box into the kitchen, refilled his coffee and opened the lid. 36% — Sharon Sala

Alice once told me artistry does not reside in motivation but rather stems from showing up, with the intent to be honest. When I meet a dreamer with calluses I try to shut up and listen. — Michael Perry

We have long become overgrown with calluses; we no longer hear people being killed. ("X") — Yevgeny Zamyatin

You can tell a lot about a man from his hands. If they don't have any scars or calluses on them, you might as well assume they cry at romantic comedy films, too. — Ellen Hollman

Edin Viso's poetry and prose bear the obvious marks of dark drama-of a soul variously splayed apart and cinched back together...This is a book of psalms-at once craggy and rough as the Balkan landscape, and sublime as sunrise on the Aegean Sea. There are calluses on the palms, dried blood on the knuckles, and dirt under the fingernails of these pieces. And there is grace...Edin is a poet who knows the value of a blanket, a single orange, a moment shared...He is a man who is unafraid, and who does, in the pages before you, "take off his skin and dance in his bones.". — Stephen T. Berg

She wrote poetry constantly; that was her "work". She was a slow bleeder and she slaved over it for long, exhausting hours, and many a middle of a night I could hear her creaking around the dead house with a pen in one hand, a clipboard and a flashlight in the other, refining her poems, jotting down the lines of a conceit. Writing never came easy for her; it gave her calluses. She never courted the muses, she wrestled them, mauled them all over the house and came up, after weeks of peripatetic labor, with a slim Spencerian sonnet, fourteen lines of imagistic jabberwocky. — Millard Kaufman

It was the kind of experience, Molly said, that would grow calluses on an angel's ass. — Robert Charles Wilson

At its core, the collection is built around a very wise line from a Beatles song: I want to hold your hand. I want to hold your hand with no further expectations. I want to hold your hand instead of telling you I understand when I don't. I want to hold your hand although we don't always get along. I want to hold your hand despite the calluses, scratches, and scars that get in the way. I want to hold your hand knowing I'll have to let it go one day. — Cheryl Julia Lee

The scholar may be sure that he writes the tougher truth for the calluses on his palms. They give firmness to the sentence. Indeed, the mind never makes a great and successful effort, without a corresponding energy of the body. — Henry David Thoreau

Anoop had obviously worked quite hard to earn the money to buy that glitzy little bracelet. He certainly had enough calluses and deep scars on his hands and fingers to show for all his labour, as each was obtained while trying to support his family in the style they were accustom to. Nonetheless she frequently called him a lazy alcoholic, just because he was temporarily out of work, and then left the stupid bracelet out in public as if it were simply a cheap and silly trinket. — Andrew James Pritchard

The honest-to-goodness answer is that Twitter tells me everything, and I have calluses on my fingers from all the mouse-clicking. — Josh Groban

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

Work makes a callus against grief. — Marcus Tullius Cicero

Of course, eating these food items is not what I might describe as pleasant, since they're tough and scorched and moistureless from their all-day cooking on high-temperature rollers. Sometimes biting through a burrito's thick tortilla casing can feel like chewing through your own toe calluses." "That's an image that's going to linger. — Nathan Hill

Gwyneira, who had read the word "lust" at least once before, caught the hungry expression in Morrison's eyes. "Show me your hands now, Dorothy." The man opened Dorothy's tightly closed fingers and gently ran his fingers over her right hand. It was more of a caress than an examination of her calluses. He held the hand tightly, — Sarah Lark

I wait for a long time without anything changing. The room is still dark, the floor still cold and hard, my heart still beating faster than normal. I look down to check my watch and discover that it's on the wrong hand - I usually wear mine on my left, not my right, and my watchband isn't gray, it's black. Then I notice bristly hairs on my fingers that weren't there before. The calluses on my knuckles are gone. I look down, and I am wearing gray slacks and a gray shirt; I am thicker around the middle and thinner through the shoulders. I lift my eyes to a mirror that now stands in front of me. The face staring back at mine is Marcus's. — Veronica Roth

I quietly walk to my room, and keeping the door open, I pick up my cello settling it between my knees. The tips of my left hand press down on the fingerboard, while my right hand saws the bow across the strings. The notes hit the air and I shut my eyes, urging them to find their target. I want them to surround my mom and her dad, but I also want the notes to glue them together, reattach their bond. I know it can happen, and so when my calluses become useless, I keep playing. When my arm protests with fatigue, I keep playing. I keep playing because I believe. — Cassie Shine

Indeed, the zeal of Boston's rank-and-file marathoners rivaled, and in some ways echoed, the religious passion of Nathaniel Howe and his congregation. The runners indulged in orgies of self-denial-running 100 miles a week, working junk )ohs in order to have time to train, paying their own way to races, banding together in ascetic cells, forgoing the temptations of an idolatrous world in order to attain grace and salvation out on the road. As in Puritan New England, grace was not blithely attained. A believer-a runner-earned it by losing toenails and training down to bone and muscle, just as the Puritans formed calluses on their knees from
praying. No one made a cent from their strenuous efforts. The running life, like the spiritual life, was its own reward. — John Brant

Samuel Vimes dreamed about Clues. He had a jaundiced view of Clues. He instinctively distrusted them. They got in the way. And he distrusted the kind of person who'd take one look at another man and say in a lordly voice to his companion, "Ah, my dear sir, I can tell you nothing except that he is a left-handed stonemason who has spent some years in the merchant navy and has recently fallen on hard times," and then unroll a lot of supercilious commentary about calluses and stance and the state of a man's boots, when exactly the same comments could apply to a man who was wearing his old clothes because he'd been doing a spot of home bricklaying for a new barbecue pit, and had been tattooed once when he was drunk and seventeen* and in fact got seasick on a wet pavement. What arrogance! What an insult to the rich and chaotic variety of the human experience! — Terry Pratchett

Your love is a terrible thing," November says. "It sits heavy. It stings. It cuts."
She shrugs. "I am Casimira."
"I don't know if I can bear it."
"I would not have chosen you if you could not. You will get stronger. You will grow calluses. — Catherynne M Valente

Arobynn only smiled at her, taller by a head. And when he reached out, she allowed him to brush his knuckles down her cheek. The calluses on is fingers said enough about how often he practiced. I do not expect you to trust me; I do not expect you to love me. — Sarah J. Maas

You don't mind calluses, do you, Thea? They come from drumming so intensely over a long period. All that physical work also means I have plenty of stamina. I can go as long and as hard as you want, or as slow and as deep, or any combination thereof. Hard and deep. Slow and long. Hard, deep, long? I can do that.

Your choice — Nalini Singh

I just had a pedicure. My feet are soft like a baby's behind. If his ass was covered in calluses. — Bob Saget

I watched a small man with thick calluses on both hands work 15 and 16 hours a day. I saw him once literally bleed from the bottoms of his feet, a man who came here uneducated, alone, unable to speak the language, who taught me all I needed to know about faith and hard work by the simple eloquence of his example. — Mario Cuomo

Want to wear scarlet velvet and slippers and lace gloves and ride in a stage instead of wearing calluses on my hands driving a team like a man. It is not her fault. She is right. The Lord looks on the inside, although people look on the outside. That man is measuring cloth — Nancy E. Turner