Everyman, be he rich or poor, is fond of building castles in the air. The poor man dreams of prosperity, the rich man of increasing wealth. Nor need we wonder at this, for all men are forever under the magic spell of

hope. As the poet has written: Hope springs eternal in the human breast. In youth it blooms like flower,

delicate and fragrant, shedding over the golden years of childhood the sweetness of its perfume. To the old it

offers strength in hours of weariness. But air in an unstable element; castles in the air are worse than houses

built on sand. They are frail structures, more delicate than a spider’s web. summarise​