Sick, irritated, and the prey to a thousand discomforts, I go on with my labor like a true workingman, who, with sleeves rolled up, in the sweat of his brow, beats away at his anvil, not caring whether it rains or blows, hails or thunders.

If a man is called to be a streetsweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great streetsweeper that did his job well.

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

Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.

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

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

All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind.

The three little sentences that will get you through life. Number 1: Cover for me. Number 2: Oh, good idea, Boss! Number 3: It was like that when I got here.