I could guess the ending from the title... As great a writer as Tolstoy is this one was a pretty obvious conclusion. We're all here temporarily anyway, amassing wealth on expense of health and well being is a fool's errand. Sure misery is frightening, but I find we sell our dignity too cheaply because of that fear. A life of servitude, selling nearly half our waking time in the prime of our time for fear of destitution strikes me as madness. Wouldn't it be preferable to die than to live with a leash, as golden as it may be painted? The comforts we can buy, of gadgets, big house, big car, fancy travel... As long as we report back and spend 90% of the year saying 'yes sir' to boss, client or market. What have we become? Well dressed, comfy serfs.