I have nothing but an axe and a couple of mules. Every day I go out into the forest to chop wood, and at the end of the day, the mules carry it to town. I have done this back-breaking work for twenty years. I’m out of bed by five in the morning, summer and winter. My sons are grown up now, and they go out with me, but we’re just as poor as ever.
What’s the good of working like this if I am never a penny richer?
I will go into the forest no more. Who knows, if I take to my bed, and do not run after Fortune, one day she may come to me.