Landolin by Berthold Auerbach

The determined, steadfast Landolin had become a coward. He despised himself for it, but that did not mend matters. His lips were always tightly compressed, and their bitter expression became habitual. Often he would stop suddenly while walking along. He felt that he must draw his breath: he was almost smothered by the thoughts that lay so heavy upon him. Then he looked around beseechingly, and went on his way. How rich he had been before! He had had an outstanding capital of honor with every one; and now, when he wanted to draw upon it, it was no longer there. Strictly speaking, he had thought neither well nor ill of other people, he was indifferent to them; but now things had changed. His power of thought had lain fallow; and now upon this fallow land all manner of weeds, whose seeds had lain unsuspected in the ground, made their appearance. He had lived and had had an acute mind, especially when an advantage for himself was to be gained.

But now, it seemed as though he were half asleep. Stop! What are men to you? What do you care for this one and that one? What does one gain in life, after all? Plowing, sowing, and reaping. The forest trees grow, long after the man who planted them has become a clod of earth. Is it for this that a man gives himself so much trouble and thought? Yes -- gives thought. That is what is hard for a man who, until now, has not had it to do.