I would only just hint to him, while respecting his sensitiveness,
that the present hour is just as much a part of eternity as another
hour ten thousand years off.

The second--the most important--form of the fundamental question
embraces the problem of old age. All plain men will admit, when
faithfully cross-examined, a sort of belief that they are on their way
to some Timbuctoo situate in the region of old age. It may be the
Timbuctoo of a special ambition realized, or the Timbuctoo of luxury,
or the Timbuctoo of material security, or the Timbuctoo of hale
health, or the Timbuctoo of knowledge, or the Timbuctoo of power, or
even the Timbuctoo of a good conscience. It is anyhow a recognizable
and definable Timbuctoo. And the path leading to it is a straight,
wide thoroughfare, clearly visible for a long distance ahead.

The theory of the mortal journey is simple and seldom challenged. It
is a twofold theory--first that the delight of achievement will
compensate for the rigours and self-denials of the route, and second
that the misery of non-achievement would outweigh the immediate
pleasures of dallying. If this theory were not indestructible, for
reasons connected with the secret nature of humanity, it would
probably have been destroyed long ago by the mere cumulative battering
of experience. For the earth's surface is everywhere thickly dotted
with old men who have achieved ambition, old men drenched in luxury,
old men as safe as Mont Blanc from overthrow, old men with the health
of camels, old men who know more than anybody ever knew before, old
men whose nod can ruin a thousand miles of railroad, and old men with
consciences of pure snow; but who are not happy and cannot enjoy life.

The theory, however, does happen to be indestructible, partly because