" Should Plenty pour from cornucopia full
As much in riches as the sand
Stirred up by wind-whipped seas, or as the countless stars
That shine in the clear night sky,
And never stay her hand,
Still would mankind not cease
Complaining of their wretchedness.
Even were God with much gold prodigal,
Answering men's prayers,
And heaped bright honors on those wanting them,
Their gains would seem to them
Nothing: ever their cruel gain-devouring greed
Opens new maws. What curbs
Could check within firm bounds this headlong lust,
When even those whose wealth is overflowing
The thirst for gain still burns?
He is never rich
Who trembles and sighs, thinking himself in need. "

― Boethius , Theological Tractates/The Consolation of Philosophy