Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out read more

Let no one till his death
Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out and the labour done.

Work is the meat of life, pleasure the dessert.

Work is the meat of life, pleasure the dessert.

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

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

Genuine Work alone, what thou workest faithfully, that is
eternal, as the Almighty Founder and World-Builder himself.

Genuine Work alone, what thou workest faithfully, that is
eternal, as the Almighty Founder and World-Builder himself.

The Lord had a job for me, but I had so much to do,
I said, "You get somebody read more

The Lord had a job for me, but I had so much to do,
I said, "You get somebody else--or wait till I get through."
I don't know how the Lord came out, but He seemed to get along:
But I felt kinda sneakin' like, 'cause I know'd I done Him wrong.
One day I needed the Lord--Needed Him myself--needed Him right
away,
And He never answered me at all, but I could hear Him say
Down in my accusin' heart, "Nigger, I'se got too much to do,
You get somebody else or wait till I get through."

The fiction pleased; our generous train complies,
Nor fraud mistrusts in virtue's fair disguise.
The work she read more

The fiction pleased; our generous train complies,
Nor fraud mistrusts in virtue's fair disguise.
The work she plyed, but, studious of delay,
Each following night reversed the toils of day.

Three Rules of Work: Out of clutter find simplicity; From discord find harmony; In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.

Three Rules of Work: Out of clutter find simplicity; From discord find harmony; In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.

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.

Basically, I no longer work for anything but the sensation I have
while working.

Basically, I no longer work for anything but the sensation I have
while working.