But men labor under a mistake. The better part of a man is soon plowed into the soil for compost. By a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed…laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through through and steal. It is a fool’s life, as they will find when they get to the end of it, if not before.

from Walden by Henry David Thoreau

(three weeks in row for Thoreau…can you tell what I’m reading?)