There once was a tree that produced the sweetest oranges. Soon the word spread and people arrived from great distances to pick its fruit.
But rather than limit themselves so the tree could rest, some people cried out, "I must have more, give me more" as they picked and picked the oranges.
Then one day, the tree ran out of oranges and could produce no more.
Iris inherited her parent's modest home, and in its backyard was a money tree.
As Iris recalled from her childhood, whenever her parents needed money for the family or for charity, they gently shook the tree and money fell to the ground.
"I hate this job," said the cab driver as I got into his cab. "Why," I asked. "Because I hate traffic," he replied.
"How long have you been a cab driver," I inquired. "17 years," he answered. "17 years!" I said stunned. "If you're unhappy, why don't you get another job?"