Debt:From The American Scholar

I picked up the latest The American Scholar during my trek to find a Ruby on Rails guide for right-brained people.  From my cursory travels into the Computer Language sections of various bookstores, it seems many of these books are for the left-brained.  Granted, that's not exactly surprising since I'd hypothesize a lot of programmers are left-brained - logical, sequential, objective, et cetera - but still, us right-brainers have questions dammit!  I have a lot of why's.  Anyway, the last few pages of The American Scholar always contain quotes about a topic and this issue's is debt.  Check it:

As the circulation of money was very slow, a law was made for the Egyptians that a man might have that money lent to him which he needed, by offering as security the dead body of his father.

-Herodotus, Histories, Vol. I

This little orchard will be part of a great holding next year, for the debt will have choked the owner.  This vineyeard will belong to the bank...The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all.  Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground...The food must rot, must be forced to rot.  The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed...In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

-John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath, 1939

He uncovered his face...and said:..."Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt?" The debt shall be paid, said Crito; is there anything else?  There was no answer to the question.

-Plato on the death of Socrates, "Phaedo"

[To pay for the printing of my book] I sold the few pieces of furniture I owned.  The watch my father had solemnly given me, on which he had had two little crossed flags enameled, soon went off to the pawnbroker's.  My black poet's suit followed the watch...and off I went into the street carrying my books on my shoulder, with holes in my shoes, but beside myself with joy...ink fresh and its paper still crisp, that enchanted and ecstatic moment.

-Pablo Neruda, Memoirs, 1977