All around me are working hard to get things that will please me, and competing to see who can give them the cheapest.

The little I pay for the use of libraries, railroads, galleries, parks, is less than it would cost to care for the least of all I use.

Life and landscape are mine, the stars and flowers, the sea and air, the birds and trees.

What more do I want?
All the ages have been working for me; all mankind are my servants.

I am only required to feed and clothe myself, an easy task in this land of opportunity.
There is scarcely an idea more infectious or potent than the love of money.