“The happiest field in all the harvest is the field of sunflowers at their peak. Drinking the rays and dancing in the breeze. The saddest field is the same field, six weeks later. Drunk on the sun and burnt with shame, they drop their heads to hide their mane.”

“Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.”

“I’ve been on a diet for two weeks and all I’ve lost is two weeks!”-Totie Fields-”

“Some people work in the medical field, others in the legal field, while I work in the green field. Except in winter, and then I work in the brown field.”

“Come into our home, daughters of Earth; dwell in our tunnels, harvest our fields; what we cannot do, you are now our hands to do for us. Blossom, trees; ripen, fields; be warm for them, suns; be fertile for them, planets: they are our adopted daughters, and they have come home.”

“If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unremembered seasons?”

“The fields that push up the corn, and the water that rushes down the ravine, the juice of the grape, and the life of a man as it flows past him, are all one and the same thing. The sole unity in life is the unity of rhythm. A rhythm to which we all dance; men, apples, ravines, ploughed fields, carts among the corn, houses, horses, and the sun. The stuff that is in you, Gauguin, will pound through a grape tomorrow, because you and the grape are one. When I paint a peasant labouring in the field, I want people to feel the peasant flowing down into the soil, just as the corn does, and the soil flowing up into the peasant. I want them to feel the sun pouring into the peasant, into the field, the corn, the plough, and the horses, just as they all pour back into the sun. When you begin to feel the universal rhythm in which everything on earth moves, you begin to understand life….”