The rather since every man is the son of his own works.
[Sp., Quanto mas que cada uno es read more

The rather since every man is the son of his own works.
[Sp., Quanto mas que cada uno es hijo de sus obras.]

I like work; It fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.

I like work; It fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.

How many a rustic Milton has passed by,
Stifling the speechless longings of his heart,
In unremitting read more

How many a rustic Milton has passed by,
Stifling the speechless longings of his heart,
In unremitting drudgery and care!
How many a vulgar Cato has compelled
His energies, no longer tameless then,
To mould a pin, or fabricate a nail!

The harder I work, the luckier I get.

The harder I work, the luckier I get.

With hand on the spade and heart in the sky
Dress the ground and till it;
Turn read more

With hand on the spade and heart in the sky
Dress the ground and till it;
Turn in the little seed, brown and dry,
Turn out the golden millet.
Work, and your house shall be duly fed:
Work, and rest shall be won;
I hold that a man had better be dead
Than alive when his work is done.

Plough deep while sluggards sleep.

Plough deep while sluggards sleep.

I put all my genius into my life; I put only my talent into my works.

I put all my genius into my life; I put only my talent into my works.

All work, even cotton-spinning, is noble; work is alone noble.

All work, even cotton-spinning, is noble; work is alone noble.

By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out read more

By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out sight,
Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
To put on when you're weary--or a stool
To tumble over and vex you . . . curse that stool!
Or else at best, a cushion where you lean
And sleep, and dream of something we are not,
But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
This hurts most, this . . . that, after all, we are paid
The worth of our work, perhaps.