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One hand full of rest is better than two hands full of work and trying to catch the wind.

Then I looked again at what is of no use under the sun. There was a certain man who lived alone. He did not have a son or a brother. Yet he worked all the time. His eyes were never happy with the riches he had, and he never asked, “For whom am I working and why am I keeping myself from happiness?” This also is for nothing. It is work that brings sorrow.

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