The sluggard does not plow after the season, so he begs during the harvest and has nothing. Proverbs 20:4
It is like the seed put in the soil -- the more one sows, the greater the harvest.
You must give to get, You must sow the seed, before you can reap the harvest.
The harvest of old age is the recollection and abundance of blessing previously secured.
With every deed you are sowing a seed, though the harvest you may not see.
Every thought is a seed. If you plant crab apples don't count on harvesting golden Delicious .
Talk unbelief, and you will have unbelief;
but talk faith, and you will have faith. According to the seed sown will be the harvest.
The law of harvest is to reap more than you sow.
Sow an act, and you reap a habit. Sow a habit and you reap a character. Sow a character and you reap a destiny.
Happiness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few. Matthew 9:37
Reason clears and plants the wilderness of the imagination to harvest the wheat of art.
It is well for his peace that the saint goes to his martyrdom.
He is spared the sight of the horror of his harvest.
The day of fortune is like a harvest day, We must be busy when the corn is ripe.
There would be no advantage to be gained by sowing a field of wheat if the harvest did not return more than was sown.
Private victories precede public victories.
You can't invert that process any more than you can harvest a crop before you plant it.
We must give more in order to get more.
It is the generous giving of ourselves that produces the generous harvest.
It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.
I inherited that calm from my father, who was a farmer.
You sow, you wait for good or bad weather, you harvest, but working is something you always need to do.
The only way you can bring in the harvest in the fall is to plant in the spring, and to water, weed, fertilize in the summer
For this is what America is all about.
It is the uncrossed desert and the unclimbed ridge. It is the star that is not reached and the harvest that is sleeping in the unplowed ground.
There are times to cultivate and create, when you nurture your world and give birth to new ideas and ventures. There are times of flourishing and abundance, when life feels in full bloom, energized and expanding. And there are times of fruition, when things come to an end. They have reached their climax and must be harvested before they begin to fade. And finally of course, there are times that are cold, and cutting and empty, times when the spring of new beginnings seems like a distant dream. Those rhythms in life are natural events. They weave into one another as day follows night, bringing, not messages of hope and fear, but messages of how things are.
Cautiousness in judgment is nowadays to be recommended to each and every one: if we gained only one incontestable truth every ten years from each of our philosophical writers the harvest we reaped would be sufficient.
Excluded by my birth and tastes from the social order, I was not aware of its diversity. Nothing in the world was irrelevant: the stars on a general's sleeve, the stock-market quotations, the olive harvest, the style of the judiciary, the wheat exchange, flower-beds. Nothing. This order, fearful and feared, whose details were all inter-related, had a meaning: my exile.
I will venture to affirm, that the three seasons wherein our corn has miscarried did no more contribute to our present misery, than one spoonful of water thrown upon a rat already drowned would contribute to his death; and that the present plentiful harvest, although it should be followed by a dozen ensuing, would no more restore us, than it would the rat aforesaid to put him near the fire, which might indeed warm his fur-coat, but never bring him back to life.
I have often thought that if heaven had given me choice of my position and calling, it should have been on a rich spot of earth, well watered, and near a good market for the productions of the garden. No occupation is so delightful to me as the culture of the earth, and no culture comparable to that of the garden. Such a variety of subjects, some one always coming to perfection, the failure of one thing repaired by the success of another, and instead of one harvest, a continued one thro' the year. Under a total want of demand except for our family table. I am still devoted to the garden. But tho' an old man, I am but a young gardener.
It is not because the touch of genius has roused genius to production, but because the admiration of genius has made talent ambitious, that the harvest is still so abundant.