
It is not the style of clothes one wears, neither the kind of
It is not the style of clothes one wears, neither the kind of automobile one drives, nor the amount of money one has in the bank, that counts. These mean nothing. It is simply service that measures success.






“It is not the style of clothes one wears, neither the kind of automobile one drives, nor the amount of money one has in the bank, that counts. These mean nothing. It is simply service that measures success.” Thus spoke George Washington Carver, the humble scientist, teacher, and servant of humanity. His words strike like a hammer against the illusions of wealth and status. For in them he proclaims that true success is not measured by possessions or appearances, but by the service one renders to others. What matters is not how much you accumulate, but how much you contribute to the world.
The ancients too knew this truth. They spoke of kings who clothed themselves in jewels and gold but ruled unjustly, and their names became curses remembered in infamy. Yet they also honored sages who lived in simplicity, clothed in plain garments, but whose words and deeds lifted nations from darkness. What Carver declares is the same eternal principle: service is the only true measure of greatness. Clothes wear out, riches decay, machines rust, but the good done for others shines beyond time.
Carver himself embodied this teaching. Born into slavery, deprived of wealth and privilege, he could have been consumed with bitterness. Instead, he gave himself to service—to teaching farmers how to enrich their soil, to discovering hundreds of uses for the peanut and the sweet potato, to lifting his people and his nation through humble labor. He sought no riches, no luxury, no title. His reward was the betterment of lives, the dignity of service. By this measure, though he owned little, he was among the richest men to walk the earth.
History echoes with similar lives. Consider Florence Nightingale, who abandoned wealth and privilege to nurse the wounded in war, founding modern nursing. Her legacy was not in garments or fortune, but in the countless lives she saved. Or Mahatma Gandhi, who clothed himself in simple homespun cloth, yet through his service liberated a nation. Their greatness, like Carver’s, was not in what they possessed but in how they served. This is the standard by which all lasting success must be measured.
The lesson is mighty: if you chase wealth and status, you will one day find them empty. If you chase service, you will discover a treasure that no thief can steal. The world does not remember men for the cut of their suits or the weight of their purses, but for the love, wisdom, and healing they gave. As Carver said, automobiles and bank accounts “mean nothing”—they vanish like smoke. But service endures.
O children of tomorrow, let this teaching be engraved upon your hearts: measure your life not by what you gain, but by what you give. Do not ask, “How can I be rich?” Ask, “Whom can I serve? How can I make the world better through my gifts?” For if you live this way, success will follow, not as possessions, but as a legacy of goodness written upon the lives of others.
In practice, begin where you are. Serve in small things—help the weak, guide the lost, use your skills not only for yourself but for others. In time, these small services weave together into greatness. Your legacy will not be the style of your clothes, the speed of your car, or the balance of your account, but the lives you touched, the burdens you lightened, the hope you gave.
Thus George Washington Carver’s words endure: true success is service. All else is illusion, passing and vain. But service plants seeds that grow into forests, feeding generations yet unborn. Live by this truth, and your life will not only succeed—it will shine.
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