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There is one alone, and there is not a second; yea, he hath neither child nor brother: yet is there no end of all his labour; neither is his eye satisfied with riches; neither saith he, For whom do I labour, and bereave my soul of good? This is also vanity, yea, it is a sore travail.
For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: and there is no soundness in my flesh.
Hell and destruction are never full; so the eyes of man are never satisfied.
All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.
Yea, I hated all my labour which I had taken under the sun: because I should leave it unto the man that shall be after me.
For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.