Calloused Quotes

You need some help, Rosie?"
His footsteps quicken behind me, and before I can respond, I feel his calloused hands on my waist. I accidently slide back against his chest and inhale the scent that has always clung to his whole family - something like forests, damp leaves, and sunshine. I suppose when your father is a woodsman you're bound to carry the scent of oak in your veins. One breath is all I get the chance for, though; he kicks the door open and sets me down on the front stoop, then takes a step back. I turn to face him, hoping to thank him for the help and in the same sentence admonish him for carrying me like a little girl.
Instead, I smile. He's still Silas - Silas who left a year ago, the boy just a little older than my sister. His eyes are still sparkling and expressive, hair still the brown-black color of pine bark, body broad-shouldered and a little too willowy for his features. He's still there, but it's as if someone new has been layered on top of him. Someone older and stronger who isn't looking a me as if I'm Scarlett's kid sister . . . someone who makes me feel dizzy and quivery. How did this happen?
Calm down. It's just Silas. Sort of.
"You're staring," he says cautiously, looking worried.
"Oh. Um, sorry," I say, shaking my head. Silas shoves his hands into his pockets with a familiar sway. "It's just been a while, that's all."
"Yeah, no kidding. You're heavier than I remember."
I frown, mortified.
"Oh, no, wait. I di ~ Jackson Pearce

To be gripped by Foteini's calloused, rustic hand felt like being lovingly embraced by a 1,000 year old olive tree. For the first time since I arrived I felt the outer layer of my foreignness begin to peel away, just a tiny bit. ~ Marjory McGinn

Don't hide your scars, your stretch marks,
your laugh lines, your calloused hands.
They are your life story,
telling of struggles won and lost,
challenges faced, losses overcome,
life grown and birthed and nurtured,
hard work accomplished,
stars reached for, hopes dashed, dreams realized,
rock bottoms and mountain tops.
They tell the story of your one
amazing, awful, beautiful life
written in the curves and lines of
extraordinary, miraculous, beautiful you. ~ L.R. Knost

now I'm blinking in a new gloaming
and all I see as I'm stretched low down here
is a world of women flat on their frozen
faces. we are the ground itself, corporeal
carpet of cells, softness calloused hard
beneath the pebbled soles of the fathers
and husbands and brothers and priests

and it's a horror if you could see it,
a world of women ruined
by man's fear. ~ Beth Morey

Faintly he smiled, but his voice was hard. "Lass, you do not want what I have." As if to prove it, he overturned his hand and dragged a calloused thumb roughly across her bottom lip.

All the breath came out of her in a hot rush. "Oh."
~From THE KING'S OUTLAW, part of the Captured by a Celtic Warrior anthology ~ Kris Kennedy

Some people are incapable of love - they have calloused souls ... ~ John Geddes

Percy figured they must be on the bottom of his foot - a rough, calloused expanse where only the most disgusting plant life grew. Finally ~ Rick Riordan

The hand touched my cheek again. It wasn't soft and cool like Gina's. It was warm, with calloused fingertips like those of….
….a guitar player. ~ Jeri Smith-Ready

Maybe just as skin on a hand grows together after pain in repetition, a person does too. But I don't want to become a calloused man. ~ Veronica Roth

Peter lifted his head. Hook's hair was tangled around his face like a lion's mane and his eyes were painfully clear, all teasing and mirth gone from his mouth.
He took Peter's chin in his hand, his fingers calloused but gentle, and kissed him.
Everything in the world grew quiet and Peter's body grew loud. The caress of Hook's fingertips under his chin made his pulse catch, his throat flushing, shoulders tightening. He could only seem to breathe in, breathe Hook in deeper. Hook's lips were dry, and he tasted like salt and sweet wine. He smelled like gunpowder and the sea and he was everywhere, shifting closer across the leaves, his other arm snaking around Peter's waist, the iron claw pressed flat between his shoulder blades.
Peter dug his fingers into fistfuls of earth, trying to ground himself as Hook pulled them together, tipping Peter's head back with the gentle thrust of his kiss, a momentum that threatened to tilt them both to the ground. Peter was impossibly hot, hot to his fingertips and toes and his skin was crawling with the need to be touched, the shock of that need.
Sweat caught at the back of his shirt. His skin was stark canvas begging for ink, and Hook's touch was going to stain him forever. It was too much, too sudden. Peter recoiled, yanking a knife from his boot and holding it between them. He didn't mean it as a threat, just a way to make distance where none had been. ~ Austin Chant

By day I taught Sahjara, who brought me unceasing small presents ranging from orange flower cakes to bouquets of jolly red berries; by night, I imagined my employer making the sort of inappropriate advances which would have made most governesses flee the estate forthwith, and in graphic detail, complete with bare thighs and calloused fingers and the diagonal notches which rest so sweetly above the hipbones when a gentleman is in training, as I had no doubt whatsoever Mr. Thornfield was. ~ Lyndsay Faye

In the Hebrews passage three preventives are listed for a calloused Christian heart. The first is daily exhortation of one another (3:13). ~ Charles C. Ryrie

His father shook him roughly to get his attention. "Listen to me, boy. I need you to take care of your sisters. You hear me?" Even though he was the youngest of the Dagan children and only eight years old, it was something his dad always said to him. "Yeah, I know." "No, Cai, you don't. You're too young to comprehend what I'm trying to tell you, but you have to try." There was a sadness in his father's eyes that scared him. A resignation that had never been there before and it made him want to cry. But Dagans didn't cry and he wasn't about to let his dad see him act like one of his sisters. His father cupped his face in his calloused palm. "It'll be years before you understand what's happening - if even then. But I need you to listen to me and trust me. I won't be here to protect you anymore." Caillen ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

And I was lost. I could never resist a face toucher. I loved the feeling of being so treasured by someone. I wasn't laboring under any delusions that Talon Steel treasured me, but oh, the touch of his calloused fingers on my bare cheek… I was in heaven, floating on a magical cloud. ~ Helen Hardt

Strawberries were too delicate to be picked by machine. The perfectly ripe ones bruised at even too heavy a human touch. It hit her then that every strawberry she had ever eaten - every piece of fruit - had been picked by calloused human hands. Every piece of toast with jelly represented someone's knees, someone's aching back and hips, someone with a bandanna on her wrist to wipe away the sweat. Why had no one told her about this before? ~ Alison Luterman

I realized something tonight when you were in the arena doing your thing."
She took another deep breath of the roses' scent. "What was it?"
"I love you, Elle."
Her eyes flared wide to search his and her heart stopped.
"Do you love me?"
"Yes, I love you, Chase."
Simple, sure, an indisputable fact she couldn't've held on her tongue if she'd wanted to. But was she ready to love somebody who loved her back?
Was she?
"You had me since Spin Master," he said, with that grin she loved. "But I didn't know it 'til tonight."
"Oh, well, then, I get it," she said, smiling back. "You only loved me 'cause I saved your life."
"I want you to save it again."
He stood up to pull something out of the front pocket of his starched jeans. He reached for her hand.
"I'm asking you to marry me, Elle. Will you?"
Tears blurred her vision. They caught in her throat. Oh, God, how could she ever be a wife again? But how could she ever leave Chase?
She tried to buy herself a little time to think. "You said you don't trust women."
"Only you. I trust you. I trusted you with my life the first time I ever saw you."
That made her grin. And then she felt very solemn. He was looking right into her soul, holding her hand in his big calloused one. She clung to it.
"You're in a league of your own, Elle. Not just was a bull-fighter, but in every way."
She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to think. She knew she loved ~ Genell Dellin

Eventually, after listening to a good deal of grumbling and muttering, Jessica felt the bed dip. A calloused hand reached for hers. "It is late?" she asked. "Late enough." "Hold me?" How gentle were those powerful arms as they gathered her close. Jessica pressed her face against Richard's neck and sighed at the pleasure of the warmth. His hint of a beard was rough against her forehead but she didn't mind that either. She put her hands on the hard wall of his chest and let the heat of his body seep into hers. Richard's hand trembled as he brushed her hair back from her face and she knew it was because he was trying to be gentle. She snuggled closer to him and felt herself drifting off to sleep. ~ Lynn Kurland

Here's the advantage of being water: It's forgiving and ever-changing and unpredictable and strong-willed. It's stronger than rock; it can wear it down or move it or break it, or slowly seep through the surface. It can flow around anything and through anything or under or on top. It can change into so many forms. It can be so calm it's invisible, so wild it's uncontainable. It can smother fire with one spray.
But here is the weakness: People with water are susceptible to drought. We can run dry, and when we do, we shrink, until something replenishes us. We rely on others. We need love and support. When we're not fed, we become a bit calloused and cracked, like dry skin. We wither, we wrinkle, and we can disappear inside ruts, until we flow again. ~ Katie Kacvinsky

Regret is an uneven hand,
a rough palm at the cheek - tender
and calloused. ~ Lorna Dee Cervantes

It's all right, I got off the ship okay. I'm alive," he said again. But his voice sounded different now. "I said I'm alive, Camille. Open your eyes and look at me."
Camille's heart shriveled as her eyelids fluttered open and she saw the ceiling of Monty's shack.
"Camille?" Oscar leaned over her, his calloused hand on her cheek. "Thank God. You've been delirious for nearly an hour."
Tears slipped down her cheeks as the truth stung her with renewed vigor. Her father wasn't alive. He was truly gone. It had been nothing but a hallucination.
"Why are you crying? Does something hurt?" Oscar asked, lightly prodding her arms and then checking her head. She was lying on a cot in front of the blazing stove, blankets covering her. They were scratchy and too heavy. She tried to push them away.
"No." Oscar blocked her arms. "Don't do that."
"Why?" she asked, her throat dry and sore.
Oscar looked apprehensive as he tucked the blankets tightly around her arms and neck. "Your clothes were soaked. You were shivering and flush with fever."
"Had to take 'em off, love," Ira said, coming to the foot of the cot. "You gave us quite a scare. That lump on the back of your head worked you over something nasty."
Camille stared at Ira, then Oscar. The crushed hope of her father being alive withered under the heat of embarrassment.
"You…you removed my dress?" she whispered. Oscar backed away from her, as if he'd just slid his hand over an open flame.
Angie Frazier

I did not mean to be so long away from you. I had clan business to take care of, which took longer than I anticipated."
She nodded. "I understand."
He blew out a breath. "I'm not sure you do. I was eager to get through that business precisely because I wanted it out of the way so that I could return to your side."
Now it was her turn to feel her body flush with heat. "Oh yeah?"
"Aye." He looked down at his hands and then slowly reached and clasped her hand resting against her thigh. The rough feel of his calloused hands on her skin, and the tentative vulnerability in the movement, about made her slide forward off the bench and melt in a puddle on the stone floor.
He really was just a big - quiet - teddy bear. ~ Angela Quarles

Our worldly wisdom has made us calloused and hard. Our natural wisdom, as the Scriptures teach, comes not from God, but is earthly, sensual, and devilish. ~ Billy Graham

Physically, I'm not tough. I may think tough. I would say I'm kinda tough and calloused inside. I could use a foot more in height and fifty more pounds and fifteen years off my age and then God help all you bastards. ~ Humphrey Bogart

There was always dirt under his fingernails when he rested his hands on the counter, and his hands were broad and calloused, like maybe they served him in a particular way that had nothing to do with gesticulation or the exchange of money... It seemed a fine way to pass the time to imagine that the dirt under his fingernails was residue from saving the world. ~ Sarah Bruni

It's not hard to like these foods once you open your mouth to them: the anchovies, the trotters, the pig's head terrines, the sardines, the mackerel, the uni, the liver mousses and confits. Once you admit that you want things to taste like more or better versions of themselves - once you commit to flavor as your god - the rest follows. I started adding salt to everything. My tongue grew calloused, overworked. You want the fish to taste like fish, but fish times a thousand. Times a million. Fish on crack. I was lucky I never tried crack. ~ Stephanie Danler

Remorse! Can a heart like mine ever know the meaning of such a feeling? The habit of evildoing expunged it long ago from my calloused soul. ~ Marquis De Sade

You've been hurt by every person you ever cared for, except Abby. You raised yourself, and in doing so became self-reliant and independent. You don't need the firm. You can leave it. You're hardened and calloused beyond your years. And you're smart enough to pull it off, Mitch. You won't get caught. That's why we picked you. ~ John Grisham

He framed her face with his calloused hands and looked down at her. His beautiful blue eyes searched her face and all her fears fled. In his eyes she saw everything she needed. Gentleness, kindness, passion and ... maybe, just maybe a hint of love. ~ Tamara Hoffa

I look at my left
hand it is clever
it is robust & honorable
it is strength and
reliablity. I look
at my right hand
and it is voice,it
is feeling and soft
and forgiving; it
is delicate and
fancy.
One is strong calloused and tempered
the other is art,
ornamental, and
listening. I am both
why should I be
one or the other?
Strings tell a
different tune. ~ Myself

Training is doing your homework. It's not exciting. More often than not it's tedious. There is certainly no glory in it. But you stick with it, over time, and incrementally through no specific session, your body changes. Your mind becomes calloused to effort. You stop thinking of running as difficult or interesting or magical. It just becomes what you do. It becomes a habit. ~ Jack Edmonds

Writing makes me hard, like a fisherman, and brown from the heat. Tossing out and reeling in is a job for visionaries and those with calloused hands. ~ Chila Woychik

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as president. And we know the government can't solve every problem.
But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And, above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation, the only way it's been done in America for 221 years
block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand. ~ Barack Obama

people used to tell me that i had beautiful hands
told me so often, in fact, that one day i started to believe them until i asked my photographer father, "hey daddy could i be a hand model"

to which he said no way,

i dont remember the reason he gave me and i wouldve been upset,

but there were far too many stuffed animals to hold
too many homework assignment to write,
too many boys to wave at
too many years to grow,

we used to have a game, my dad and i about holding hands cus we held hands everywhere, and every time either he or i would whisper a great
big number to the other, pretending that we were keeping track of how many times we had held hands that we were sure, this one had to be 8 million 2 thousand 7 hundred and fifty three.

hands learn more than minds do,
hands learn how to hold other hands,
how to grip pencils and mold poetry,
how to tickle pianos and dribble a basketball,
and grip the handles of a bicycle
how to hold old people, and touch babies ,
i love hands like i love people,

they're the maps and compasses in which we navigate our way through life, some people read palms to tell your future,

but i read hands to tell your past,
each scar marks the story worth telling,
each calloused palm,
each cracked knuckle is a missed punch
or years in a factory,

now ive seen middle eastern hands cl ~ Sarah Kay

flipped open. A stranger sat in the uncomfortable-looking chair next to his hospital bed, the pads of his fingers pressed together under his chin. "Who are you?" Jacob asked. "I'm your Uncle John. John Laudner," the man said. He leaned forward and extended a calloused palm. Jacob did not take the man's ~ G.P. Ching

She flapped her hands, anxious energy coursing through her. "How can you be so calm?"
He got to his feet, unfolding with an easy grace. He held out a hand, his dark eyes focused solemnly on hers. "Come with me."
"For what?"
"That's part of the lesson." Was it her imagination, or did a twinkle of humor stir in those eyes? "Center yourself, and grab onto the here and now."
That made no sense - what was he now, Sir Medieval Zen Master? But she slipped her hand into his strong, calloused one. He hauled her up until she bumped into his chest. With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face until she looked in his eyes.
"Listen to the world around you. Hear the birds? Hear the small animals scurrying? You are in this moment, this moment only, and sometimes that's all you can do, all you can be." His finger pulled away, brushing against her skin, and he tapped her nose, stepping away. ~ Angela Quarles

No one's made me feel this way in years." His whisper is rough, calloused. "I want you, Libby."
...
"Then have me," I whisper.
His lips land on mine, and it's like coming to the surface after drowning. All desperate need that eclipses everything else. He presses me against the door and we're a tangle of heart-hammering desire and panting need. ~ Carrie Ryan

When he imagines you, he should think of every sensation of you before he remembers how you look. How you sound when you laugh at a joke he makes, how your soft sun-kissed shoulder feels in his calloused hand, how your lips taste like sugar and how when you get just close enough to him, he can catch a slight breeze of you and he'll always remember that you smell like flowers and sunshine. ~ Paige Harbison

Day grabbed God's hand off his cock and licked the calloused palm from wrist to fingertips before guiding it back to his dick. Holy fuck that was hot. ~ A.E. Via

Calloused hands were the badge of the pioneer, while furrowed brows are the insignia of modern man. ~ Billy Graham

Her pinkie took matters into its own, er, pinkie, and moved oh-so-slightly, grazing his skin. His pinkie, judging by the shape and texture.
Blood rushed and pounded through her veins, flushing her skin. This could not, in any way, be explained as an accidental touch. But he could feign sleep if he wasn't interested. Did she want him to do that?
What was she doing?
She commanded her pinkie to drop, and thankfully, it obeyed.
A jolt shot through her as his finger made a query, and the need clarified. The need represented her desire for some measure of control. Control over her general situation. Control over her attraction. She answered with a gentle finger stroke along his calloused, warm skin.
A sharp breath pierced the dark air. ~ Angela Quarles

from "The Unquarried Blue of Those Depths Is All But Blinding,"

There are some things we just don't talk about -
Not even in the morning, when we're waking,
When your calloused fingers tentatively walk
The slope of my waist:
How love's a rust-worn boat,
Abandoned at the dock - and who could doubt
Waves lick their teeth, eyeing its hull? We're taking
Our wreckage as a promise, so we don't talk.
We wet the tired oars, tide drawing us out. ~ Ashley Anna McHugh

As one recalls some of the monstrous situations under which human beings have lived and live their lives, one marvels at man's meekness and complacency. It can only be explained by the quality of flesh to become calloused to situations that if faced suddenly would provoke blisters and revolt. ~ George Amos Dorsey

Part of me was afraid that if I raised my fist to the sky and demanded an answer now, I would hear a thundering and calloused, 'Because I said so," from God in heaven. And I may not ever want to speak to Him again. ~ Sarah Thebarge

The assassin nodded. His eyes glinted in amusement, holding her gaze for a moment too long. And perhaps she saw his expression soften...but she didn't want to read too much into it. She gave him a little wave and turned to leave, her heart pounding strangely in her chest. She remembered the brush of his strong calloused hands, his long nimble fingers, and his arms trapping her against the railing, She thought of his full attention upon her, observing each small movement, every flaw and breath.

Tomorrow they would train again. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She hoped he didn't notice her response to his touch-but deep down inside, she knew he saw everything. ~ T.L. Shreffler

he walks into the bedroom like he owns it. says, "i wanna be filthy with you." takes me down hungry. helps me shed my skin. cafuné. he looked at me like i wasn't something ruined. filled my vicious parts with gold. touched me with too much yearning. he said, "i'd burn for you." how can he not see we're the creators of the fire? he growled, "moan for me." the wolf bit down and i howled into the night. ~ Taylor Rhodes

Please understand, I am aware that I am calloused, worn, and rusted in all the parts of me that used to shine, but I still care. My God, I care. And I am trying. ~ Tyler Kent White

If he looked into her face, he would see those haunted, loving eyes. The hauntedness would irritate him
the love would move him to fury. How dare she love him? Hadn't she any sense at all? What was he supposed to do about that? Return it? How? What could his calloused hands produce to make her smile? What of his knowledge of the world and of life could be useful to her? What could his heavy arms and befuddled brain accomplish that would earn him his own respect, that would in turn allow him to accept her love? ~ Toni Morrison