Quotations about:
    gold

You now can see, dear son, the short-lived pranks
that goods consigned to Fortune’s hand will play,
causing such squabbles in the human ranks.
For all the gold that lies beneath the moon —
or all that ever did lie there — would bring
no respite to these worn-out souls, not one.

[Or puoi, figliuol, veder la corta buffa
d’i ben che son commessi a la fortuna,
per che l’umana gente si rabuffa;
ché tutto l’oro ch’è sotto la luna
e che già fu, di quest’anime stanche
non poterebbe farne posare una.]

Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet

The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 7, l. 61ff (7.61-66) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
    (Source)

On the never-ending labor and contention between the hoarders and the wasters. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:

Therefore, my Son, the vanity you may
Of Fortune's gifts perceive, for which Mankind
Raise such a bustle, and so much contend.
Not all the Gold which is beneath the moon,
Or which was by these wretched Souls possess'd,
Could ever satisfy their craving minds.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 53ff]

Learn hence of mortal things how vain the boast,
Learn to despise the low, degen'rate host,
And see their wealth how poor, how mean their pride;
Not all the mines below the wand'ring moon,
Not all the sun beholds at highest noon,
Can for a moment bid the fray subside.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 11]

Now may’st thou see, my son! how brief, how vain,
The goods committed into fortune’s hands,
For which the human race keep such a coil!
Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon,
Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls
Might purchase rest for one.
[tr. Cary (1814)]

Now may'st thou, son, behold how brief the shuffle
Of goods by shifting Fortune held in store,
For which the human kind so fiercely ruffle:
Since all below the moon of golden ore
That lies, or all those weary souls possessed,
Could purchase none a moment's peace the more.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]

But thou, my Son, mayest [now] see the brief mockery of the goods that are committed unto Fortune, for which the human kind contend with each other.
For all the gold that is beneath the moon, or ever was, could not give rest to a single one of these weary souls.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]

Now see, my son, how frivolous and vain
The goods committed unto Fortune's hand,
For which the race will so rebutting stand.
Not all the gold that is beneath the moon,
Nor all these toil-worn creatures have possessed,
could purchase for them but a moment's rest.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]

And now, my son, behold the folly brief
of the world's goods to fortune's guidance given,
And for which men so struggle and dispute.
Not all the gold that is beneath the moon,
Or ever was, unto these wearied souls
Could give one hour of respite or of peace.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]

Now canst thou. Son, behold the transient farce
Of goods that are committed unto Fortune,
For which the human race each other buffet;
For all the gold that is beneath the moon,
Or ever has been, of these weary souls
Could never make a single one repose.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]

Now canst thou, my son, see the short game of the goods which are entrusted to Fortune, for which the human race buffet each other. For all the gold that is beneath the moon and that ever was, of these wearied souls could never make one of them rest.
[tr. Butler (1885)]

Now thou canst see, O son, the short-lived day
Of good, committed unto Fortune's 'hest,
For which the human race so strives alway.
Since all the gold beneath the moon possest,
Or ever owned by those worn souls of yore,
Could not make one of them one moment rest.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]

Now canst thou, son, see the brief jest of the goods that are committed unto Fortune, for which the human race so scramble; for all the gold that is beneath the moon, or that ever was, of these weary souls could not make a single one repose.
[tr. Norton (1892)]

Here mayest thou see, my son, the fleeting mockery of wealth that is the sport of Fortune, for sake of which men strive with one another. For all the gold that is, or ever hath been beneath the moon, could not procure repose for one of these weary souls.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]

Now canst thou see, my son, how vain and short-lived
Are the good things committed unto fortune,
For which sake human folk set on each other.
For all the gold on which the moon now rises,
Or ever rose, would be quite unavailing
To set one of these weary souls at quiet.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]

Now mayst thou see, my son, the brief mockery of wealth committed to fortune, for which the race of men embroil themselves; for all the gold that is beneath the moon, or ever was, could not give rest to one of these weary souls.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]

Now, my son, see to what a mock are brought
The goods of Fortune's keeping, and how soon!
Though to possess them still is all man's thought.
For all the gold that is beneath the moon,
Or ever was, never could buy repose
For one of those souls, faint to have that boon.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]

See now, my son, the fine and fleeting mock
Of all those goods men wrangle for -- the boon
That is delivered into the hand of Luck;
For all the gold that is beneath the moon,
Or ever was, could not avail to buy
Repose for one of these weary souls -- not one.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]

Now may you see the fleeting vanity
of the goods of Fortune for which men tear down
all that they are, to build a mockery.
Not all the gold that is or ever was
under the sky could buy for one of these
exhausted souls the fraction of a pause.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]

Now you can see, my son, the brief mockery of the goods that are committed to Fortune, for which humankind contend with one another; because all the gold that is beneath the moon, or ever was, would not give rest to a single one of these weary souls.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]

You see, my son, the short-lived mockery
of all the wealth that is in Fortune's keep,
over which the human race is bickering;
for all the gold that is or ever was
beneath the moon won't buy a moment's rest
for even one among these weary souls.
[tr. Musa (1971)]

Now you can see, my son, how brief's the sport
of all those goods that are in Fortune's care,
for which the tribe of men contend and brawl;
for all the gold that is or ever was
beneath the moon could never offer rest
to even one of these exhausted spirits.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]

Now you can see, my son, how short a life
Have the gifts which are distributed by Fortune,
And for which people get rough with one another:
So that all the gold there is beneath the moon
And all there ever was, could never give
A moment's rest to one of these tired souls.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]

Now you can see, my son, how ludicrous
And brief are all the goods in Fortune's ken,
Which humankind contend for: you see from this
How all the gold there is beneath the moon,
Or that there ever was, could not relieve
One of these weary souls.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 55ff]

Now you can see, my son, the brief mockery of the goods that are committed to Fortune, for which the human race so squabbles;
for all the gold that is under the moon and that ever was, could not give rest to even one of these weary souls.
[tr. Durling (1996)]

But you, my son, can see now the vain mockery of the wealth controlled by Fortune, for which the human race fight with each other, since all the gold under the moon, that ever was, could not give peace to one of these weary souls.
[tr. Kline (2002)]

Now you see, my son, what brief mockery
Fortune makes of goods we trust her with,
for which the race of men embroil themselves.
All the gold that lies beneath the moon,
or ever did, could never give a moment's rest
to any of these wearied souls.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]

Now see, my son, the futile mockery
Of spending a life accumulating possessions,
Competing with fortune and men for worthless frippery:
Take all the gold still lying under the moon,
Add all that ever was and you could not buy
A moment of rest for one of these souls -- not one.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]

You see it clear,
My son: the squalid fraud as brief as life
Of goods consigned to Fortune, whereupon
Cool heads come to the boil, hands to the knife.
For all the gold there is, and all that's gone,
Would give no shred of peace to even one
Of these drained souls.
[tr. James (2013), l. 56ff]