Avarice Increases With The Increasing Pile Of

The Smell Of Profit Is Clean And Sweet, Whatever The Source.

To Gain A Livelihood At The Expense Of All That Makes Life Worth The Having.

All Arts His Own, The Hungry Greekling Counts; And Bid Him Mount The Skies, The Skies He Mounts.

Some Men Make Fortunes, But Not To Enjoy Them For, Blinded By Avarice, They Live To Make Fortunes.

They Whose Sole Bliss Is Eating Can Give But That One Brutish Reason Why They Live.