I love working out. It's my release. I've done it since I've been in the military.

I love working out. It's my release. I've done it since I've been in the military.

Tools were made and born with hands,
Every farmer understands.

Tools were made and born with hands,
Every farmer understands.

Unemployment, with its injustice for the man who seeks and
thirsts for employment, who begs for labour and cannot read more

Unemployment, with its injustice for the man who seeks and
thirsts for employment, who begs for labour and cannot get it,
and who is punished for failure he is not responsible for by the
starvation of his children--that torture is something that
private enterprise ought to remedy for its own sake.

As for me, prizes are nothing. My prize is my work.

As for me, prizes are nothing. My prize is my work.

To build may have to be the slow and laborious task of years. To
destroy can be the thoughtless read more

To build may have to be the slow and laborious task of years. To
destroy can be the thoughtless act of a single day.

I think the person who takes a job in order to live - that is to say, for the money read more

I think the person who takes a job in order to live - that is to say, for the money - has turned himself into a slave.

Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth
not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word read more

Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth
not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth.

Keep doing some kind of work, that the devil may always find you
employed.
[Lat., Facito aliquid operis, read more

Keep doing some kind of work, that the devil may always find you
employed.
[Lat., Facito aliquid operis, ut semper te diabolus inveniat
occupatum.]

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.