Literary notes about moil (AI summary)
The word "moil" in literature often conveys a sense of ceaseless, wearisome labor or inner turmoil, whether it is used to depict physical drudgery or the burden of emotional strife. Its usage ranges from the depiction of everyday, albeit heavy, toil found in colloquial voices—as in the languorous, vernacular speech that sings of long, hard weeks ([1], [2])—to the more introspective portrayal of life’s struggles, where labor becomes a metaphor for the incessant hardships that mark the human condition ([3], [4], [5]). Frequently paired with “toil,” the term intensifies the imagery of both physical and mental exertion, highlighting an unending cycle of effort and suffering in various contexts—from the chaotic battles of duty and ambition ([6], [7]) to the inner emotional maelstrom that underlies a character’s existence ([8], [9]).
- Ay, an' his men hev been quiet, an' all; 'tis mony a week sin' we hed ony sort o' moil wi' 'em."
— from Shameless Wayne: A Romance of the last Feud of Wayne and Ratcliffe by Halliwell Sutcliffe - But 's tued an' moil'd 'issén deäd, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.
— from The Book of Humorous Verse - In later years he described his life at Mt. Oliphant as combining "the cheerless gloom of a hermit with the unceasing moil of a galley slave."
— from Selections from Five English Poets - But the toil and moil of years had worn away these recollections, and weakened the desire for sacred things.
— from Country Life in Canada Fifty Years Ago Personal recollections and reminiscences of a sexagenarian by Canniff Haight - “I have to toil and moil like a slave for the cause.”
— from The Parson O' Dumford by George Manville Fenn - But routine forced him out--into what?--into the moil and toil of fighting for offices, and there he has cut a poor figure indeed.
— from A Preface to Politics by Walter Lippmann - The King would not tempt the moil that day, but left the sweat and thunder of it to his captains, content to play the Cæsar on the southern heights.
— from Love Among the Ruins by Warwick Deeping - The Spring has come; again the Sower sows, And all the Season's Moil is in my Heart.
— from The Festival of Spring, from the Díván of Jeláleddín Rendered in English Gazels after Rückert's Versions, with an Introduction and a Criticism of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám by Maulana Jalal al-Din Rumi - Folded and fenced with silence Mindless of moil and mart, It is twilight here in my garden, And twilight here in my heart.
— from The Melody of EarthAn Anthology of Garden and Nature Poems From Present-Day Poets
