Men labor under a mistake. By a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal. It is a fool’s life, as they will find when they get to the end of it, if not before. Men are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them.
from H.D. Thoreau, Walden.