A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor.
Thought is the labor of the intellect, reverie is its pleasure.
Labor is life; thought is light.
One is not idle because one is absorbed. There is both visible and invisible labor. To contemplate is to toil, to think is to do. The crossed arms work, the clasped hands act. The eyes upturned to Heaven are an act of creation.
Nothing is more dangerous than discontinued labor; it is habit lost. A habit easy to abandon, difficult to resume.
Sometimes he used a spade in his garden, and sometimes he read and wrote. He had but one name for these two kinds of labor; he called them gardening. ‘The Spirit is a garden,’ said he
The true artist can only labor con amore.
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