“Pitiful, blind, self-confident creature!” said this being. “You see your Kóstya as he was a week ago, with firm elastic limbs and long curly hair, and his naive affectionate and sensible talk. But was he always like that? There was a time when you were glad when he could say ‘Dada’ and ‘Mamma,’ and knew one from the other. Before that, you were delighted when he stood up on his soft feet and toddled to a chair. Before that, you were all delighted when he crawled about the room like an animal; and earlier yet, you were glad that he began to take notice and could hold up his hairless head, the pulsating crown of which was still soft. Still earlier, you were glad when he began to suck, pressing the nipple with his toothless gums. Before that, you were glad when he, all red and not yet separated from you, cried pitifully, filling his lungs with air. Earlier yet, a year before, where was he⁠—when he did not exist? You all think you are standing still, and that you and those you love ought always to remain what you now are. But you do not really remain the same for a single minute⁠ ⁠… you all flow like a river; and as a stone drops downwards, you are all hastening towards death, which sooner or later awaits every one of you.