The minutes, the hours, the weeks, months and years will drag
along.
Idleness, idleness, idleness. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
No human smile or voice to measure time.
Sleep, bread and water; sleep, bread and water.
Gradually madness will come and bring relief.
Be glad that you are active, you who work willingly.
And you young man who rebel against labor and long for the chance
to do nothing, study Bresci's case and take up your load gladly.
The decree condemning us to earn our bread in the sweat of our
brow was merciful, not stern. For that same power which
sentences all to work also causes happiness to be found in work
alone.
THE OWNER OF A GOLDEN MOUNTAIN
An old man sits at the end of his life, with money piled up on
all sides of him. Years ago he was working hard. All his
ability was strained to the utmost pushing back those who strove
to pass him on the road up the golden mountain.
He enjoyed the conflict, he enjoyed the sight of beaten rivals.
His delight was in work, in ACQUISITION. His growing surplus
added new zest to his life. He pitied "the poor fool" who wasted
time at anything save money-making.
But he is at the top of the heap of money now. He looks about,
and none compete with him. A few strugglers--too far away to be
heard--strive for a little of his useless accumulation.
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