What does man gain from all his labor at which he toils under the sun?
I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure. My heart took delight n all my work and this was the reward for all my labor. Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.
hands wrinkled with age stretch out to soak up something unfamiliar