Wherever you are, and whoever you may be, there is one thing in which you and I are just alike at this monment, and in all the moments of our existence. We are not at rest, we are on a journey. Our life is a movement, a tendency, a steady, ceaseless progress towards an unseen goal.
We are gaining something, or losing something, or losing something, everyday. Even when our position and our character seem to remain precisely1 the same, they are changing. For the mereadvance of time is a change. It is not the same thing to have a bare field in January and in July. The season makes the difference. The limitations that are childlike in the child are childish2
