Study the clouds, those visible emblems of human experience and
institutions. A twist, a curve, a change in the shape and outline, and
final disappearance into the universal blue--such is their destiny;
and yet each instant they are permanent, apparently, so far as that
instant is concerned.
"The rushing metamorphosis
Dissolving all that fixture is,
Melts things that be to things that seem
And solid Nature to a dream."
It will be useful, also, to consider the political machine. There is
nothing which, in its day, is apparently more permanent or powerful;
yet it dissolves in obedience to the very laws on which it is built.
So, my friend, there is never a time that you can truthfully say that
there is not, and never will be, any place for you in the order of
society and affairs.
No, indeed; things are not fixed. Recall the story of the Oriental
monarch. His wise men with all their wisdom could not produce a single
truth that stood the test of time. As the tale runs, the ruler, weary
of the falsehoods of so-called learning, called his wise men together
and said to them:
"I sicken of your daily sagacities which the next day prove to be
follies.
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