杜甫 was in his thirties, living in Chang'an and still without an office, when he wrote to
韦济, a senior minister who had praised his poems. He recalls the confidence of his youth,
读书破万卷，
下笔如有神, and then the humiliation of seeking patrons:
纨绔不饿死，
儒冠多误身, 'the silk-trousered rich never starve, while the scholar's cap ruins many a life'.
