He can buy a library or visit the whole world, but perhaps has neither patience to read nor intelligence to see.

The table may be loaded and the appetite wanting; the purse may be full, and the heart empty.

He may have gained the world and lost himself; and with all his wealth around him, in a great house and spacious and beautiful demesne, he may live as blank a life as any tattered ditcher.

Without an appetite, without an aspiration, void of appreciation, bankrupt of desire and hope, there, in his great house, let him sit and look upon his fingers.

It is perhaps a more fortunate destiny to have a taste for collecting shells than to be born a millionaire.