I am convinced that material things can contribute a lot to

In the reflective words of David Rockefeller, a man who stood among the most powerful and wealthy of his age, there arises a truth far older and deeper than gold itself: “I am convinced that material things can contribute a lot to making one’s life pleasant, but, basically, if you do not have very good friends and relatives who matter to you, life will be really empty and sad and material things cease to be important.” These are not the words of a man reaching for riches, but of one who had already possessed them — and found their weight lighter than love. From the summit of wealth, Rockefeller looked down and saw what those still climbing often miss: that riches of the heart outlast all treasures of the earth.

Born into one of America’s most legendary dynasties, David Rockefeller inherited vast fortune and influence. He walked through corridors of power where kings and presidents sought his counsel. Yet, surrounded by splendor, he saw a truth that eludes many: that comfort is not the same as contentment. The silk bed brings no rest if the soul is lonely; the grand estate feels hollow if no laughter fills its halls. He had learned, through a lifetime of abundance, that material wealth, though useful, is a tool — not a purpose. For when the night grows quiet and the world’s applause fades away, it is not money that keeps the heart warm, but connection, friendship, and love.

The ancients understood this wisdom well. The philosopher Epicurus, though often misunderstood as a lover of pleasure, taught that true joy is found not in luxury, but in simple fellowship. “Of all the things which wisdom provides,” he said, “the greatest is friendship.” A loaf of bread shared among companions brings greater happiness than a feast eaten alone. So too did Rockefeller, though centuries apart, echo this ancient truth. Having known both the grandeur of wealth and the quiet of solitude, he spoke as one who had seen both sides of life’s coin — the glittering illusion of possessions, and the enduring radiance of human love.

Consider the story of King Midas, who once begged the gods that everything he touched might turn to gold. His wish was granted — and his joy quickly turned to horror. For when he embraced his daughter, she too became lifeless gold. Surrounded by the treasure he had longed for, he found himself starving and alone, weeping amidst riches that could neither feed his hunger nor heal his heart. Midas’s tragedy is the same warning that Rockefeller offers in gentler form: material things cease to be important when they cost us the warmth of human affection. Wealth, when it becomes an idol, devours the very joy it promises to provide.

Rockefeller’s words also carry a subtle humility. They remind us that gratitude for material comfort must be joined with reverence for the immaterial — the bonds of kinship, the laughter of friends, the steady presence of those who know us deeply. Without these, even the richest life becomes “empty and sad.” The lesson is not to scorn possessions, but to understand their limits. Money may ease life’s burdens, but it cannot replace meaning; it can build houses, but not homes; it can buy admiration, but never love. He calls us, therefore, to balance — to recognize that joy springs not from ownership, but from relationship.

Let us look, too, to Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome, who ruled over an empire but wrote to himself in solitude: “We are made for one another.” Even the ruler of the world confessed that the heart’s true wealth lies in connection, not conquest. The same truth beats through Rockefeller’s words — the realization that legacy is not measured by the size of one’s fortune, but by the kindness one leaves behind, the loyalty one inspires, and the love one nurtures in the hearts of others.

And so, the teaching is clear: seek friendship before fortune, and love before luxury. Build your life not upon what may rust or fade, but upon the steadfast bonds of family, friendship, and compassion