There was a man all alone; he had neither son nor brother. There was no end to his toil, yet his eyes were not content with his wealth. “For whom am I toiling,” he asked, “and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?” This too is meaningless— a miserable business!

A man may have a hundred children and live many years; yet no matter how long he lives, if he cannot enjoy his prosperity and does not receive proper burial, I say that a stillborn child is better off than he.

All this I saw, as I applied my mind to everything done under the sun. There is a time when a man lords it over others to his own hurt.

Now there lived in that city a man poor but wise, and he saved the city by his wisdom. But nobody remembered that poor man.