The love of dirt is among the earliest of passions, as it is the latest. Mud-pies gratify one of our first and best instincts. So long as we are dirty, we are pure. Fondness for theground comes back to a man after he has run the round of pleasure and business, eaten dirt, and sown wild oats, drifted about the world, and taken the wind of all its moods. The love of digging in the ground (or of looking on while he pays another to dig is as sure to come back to him, as he is sure, at last, to go under the ground, and stay there.
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It is not the horse that draws the cart, but the oats.
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Most of us spend the first six days of each week sowing wild oats; then we go to church on Sunday and pray for a crop failure.
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Oats. A grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people.
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Alimony is like buying oats for a dead horse.
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We are happier in many ways when we are old than when we were young. The young sow wild oats. The old grow sage.
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Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose, it was the death of him.
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