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.

A day's work is a day's work, neither more nor less, and the man
who does it needs a read more

A day's work is a day's work, neither more nor less, and the man
who does it needs a day's sustenance, a night's repose, and due
leisure, whether he be a painter or ploughman.

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.

The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.

The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.

I have had my labor for my travail; ill-thought-on of her, and
ill-thought-on of you; gone between and between, read more

I have had my labor for my travail; ill-thought-on of her, and
ill-thought-on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks
for my labor.

All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is
not satisfied with seeing, nor the read more

All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is
not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled hearing.

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.

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

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.