Verily, I do not want to be like the ropemakers: They drag out their threads and always walk backwards.
And never since harvests were ripened, / Or laborers born, / Have men gathered figs of the thistle, / Or grapes of the thorn!
We are pouring our words into a sieve, and lose our labor. [Lat., In pertusum ingerimus dicta dolium, operam ludimus.]
They can expect nothing but their labor for their pains. - Cervantes
Chang Tzu tells us of a persevering man who after three laborious years mastered the art of dragon-slaying. For the rest of his days, he had not a single opportunity to test his skills.
I have lost my oil and my labor. (Labored in vain.) [Lat., Oleum et operam perdidi.]
Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve, And hope without an object cannot live.
Strength diminishes when it seems we are spending it in vain.
