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

The workers are the saviors of society, the redeemers of the race.

The most fitting occupation for a civilized man is to do nothing.

I like work; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.

It is shameful and inhuman to treat men like chattels to make money by, or to regard them merely as so much muscle or physical power.

One of the saddest things is that the only thing that a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. You can’t eat eight hours a day, nor drink for eight hours a day, nor make love for eight hours.

“Work” does not exist in a nonliterate world. The primitive hunter or fisherman did no work, any more than does the poet, painter, or thinker of today. Where the whole man is involved there is no work.

Every man is worth just so much as the things he busies himself with.