There's a lot of intelligence in the hands. When you pick up a shovel, the hands know what to do. The same thing's true of sitting at the piano.
Sure the shovel and tongs To each other belongs.
There's nothing like a shovel full of dirt to encourage literacy.
Inconvenience yourself: ditch the remote, the garage door opener, the leaf-blower; buy a bike, broom, rake, and snow shovel.
No matter who you are, you will be put abed at last with a shovel.
We are all born with an innate understanding of interpersonal equity - the idea that if you lend me your rake today, I'll respond in kind when you come to borrow my shovel tomorrow. Or nearly all of us are born with that. Psychopaths aren't.
Do you shovel to survive, or survive to shovel?
After the last shovel of dirt was patted in place, I sat down and let my mind drift back through the years. I thought of the old K. C. Baking Powder can, and the first time I saw my pups in the box at the depot. I thought of the fifty dollars, the nickels and dimes, and the fishermen and blackberry patches. I looked at his grave and, with tears in my eyes, I voiced these words: "You were worth it, old friend, and a thousand times over.
It's nice to have money, but the first thing I did with money was buy my father a snow-blower, because my job was to shovel snow, and I wasn't there to do it any more, so I was able to buy him a blower.
The only man who makes money following the races is one who does it with a broom and shovel.
The first thing you ought to do when you find yourself in a hole is quit digging. . . . Instead they are looking for a bigger shovel.
God is not remote from us. He is at the point of my pen, my (pick) shovel, my paint brush, my (sewing) needle - and my heart and thoughts.
I’m not against thinking; I’m only against thinking that thinking on its own will get you out of a hole. Shovel also needed.
Baby, your nothing but too much trouble. Gotta bury this love and bury the shovel.
Never doubt or question the power of love or one woman with a shovel.
The shovel is the brother to the gun.
My final word: don't follow your dreams. . . chase them. With a stick, or a shovel, or whatever you have handy. Get that [bleep]ing dream!
