He that would eat the nut must crack the shell.

Plough deep while sluggards sleep.

I am a friend of the workingman, and I would rather be his friend than be one.

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

Toil is man’s allotment; toil of brain, or toil of hands, or a grief that’s more than either, the grief and sin of idleness.

God sells us all things at the price of labor.

I began to realize how simple life could be if one had a regular routine to follow with fixed hours, a fixed salary, and very little original thinking to do.

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.