Labor disgraces no man; unfortunately, you occasionally find men who disgrace labor.

Eight hours for work, eight hours for sleep, eight hours for what we will.

I hate the present modes of living and getting a living. Farming and shopkeeping and working at a trade or profession are all odious to me. I should relish getting my living in a simple, primitive fashion.

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

You can be up to your boobies in white satin, with gardenias in your hair and no sugar cane for miles, but you can still be working on a plantation.

The workers are the saviors of society, the redeemers of the race.

Plough deep while sluggards sleep.

A man is not idle, because he is absorbed in thought. There is visible labor and there is an invisible labor.

Hang work! I wish that all the year were holiday; I am sure that Indolence—indefeasible Indolence—is the true state of man.

God sells us all things at the price of labor.

Every man is worth just so much as the things he busies himself with.

Man must be doing something, or fancy that he is doing something, for in him throbs the creative impulse; the mere basker in the sunshine is not a natural, but an abnormal man.

The most fitting occupation for a civilized man is to do nothing.