There is no machine refuse, cinder, husk, paring or rejected material
of any kind which modern ingenuity cannot turn to profit, making
useful and pleasant goods out of such rubbish as we would willingly,
at first sight, shoot out of the universe into chaos. Every material
thing can be turned, it would seem, into new textures, clean metal,
manure, fuel or what not. But while we are thus economical with our
dust-heaps, what horrid wastefulness goes on with our sensations,
impressions, memories, emotions, with our souls and all the things
that minister to their delight!