The better part of man is soon ploughed into the soil for compost. 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 .... The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved by the most delicate handling.
- - Henry David Thoreau, Walden