After the bare requisites of living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he has really existed. He leaves his proof on wood, on stone, or on the lives of other people. This deep desire exists in everyone, from the boy who scribbles on a wall to the Buddha who etches his image in the race mind. Life is so unreal. I think that we seriously doubt that we exist and go about trying to prove that we do.
Most people live ninety percent in the past, seven percent in the present, and that only leaves three percent for the future.
The fields were fruitful and starving men moved on the roads. The granaries were full and the children of the poor grew up rachitic.