A Quote by Matthew Dickman

I've hurt you. I've loved you. I've mowed the front yard. — © Matthew Dickman
I've hurt you. I've loved you. I've mowed the front yard.

Quote Topics

I lived a sloppy life. So I took very small increments in my life. I started making my bed. I started cleaning my room. There were dishes in the sink. It started off with doing small house chores. I saw that the yard needed to be mowed. So instead of being told it needed to be mowed, I would mow it.
I mowed yards with my grandpa at $10 a pop for awhile. I painted numbers on curbs. I cleaned swimming pools. I usually did all of that over the summer, and then I'd continue to do the yard part during the year as I went to school.
Codi: Gives you the willies, doesn't it? The thought of raising kids in a place where the front yard ends in a two-hundred-foot drop? [referring to cliff dwellings] Loyd: No worse than raising up kids where the front yard ends in a freeway.
So along with that is spending a lot of time with the ball. For me it was, I loved to juggle the ball in my front yard, and I always challenged myself - how many juggles can I get today? I think for players to get better, it's just about spending the time.
Shoot you on the front porch and knock you to the back yard.
Buy whatever kids are selling on card tables in their front yard.
I think people should have the legal right to hurt themselves without fearing that they're going to get locked up for doing so. But on a personal level, if someone I loved was hurting himself or herself in front of me, I would, of course, try to restrain them.
You might be a redneck if you have flowers planted in a bathroom appliance in your front yard.
You might be a redneck if there are four or more cars up on blocks in the front yard.
I've got a statue of St. Francis in my front yard, and I'm not even a practicing Catholic.
You might be a redneck if your daughter's Barbie's Dream House has a clothesline in the front yard.
You may be a redneck if . . . you think you are an entrepreneur because of the "Dirt for Sale" sign in the front yard.
Having a miscarriage would hurt if I went through it in silence and it would hurt if I lose the pregnancy in front of everybody, I realized.
Central Park is the grandiose symbol of the front yard each child in New York hasn't got.
I grew up in a house that might have had the only front-yard cornfield in all of Los Angeles.
That's what it felt like - that if I let a little of the hurt out, it would keep pouring out until I was a deflated balloon of a person, with a big monster of hurt in front of me.
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