Only the young have such moments. I donāt mean the very young. No. The very young have, properly speaking, no moments. It is the privilege of early youth to live in advance of its days in all the beautiful continuity of hope which knows no pauses and no introspection.
One closes behind one the little gate of mere boyishnessā āand enters an enchanted garden. Its very shades glow with promise. Every turn of the path has its seduction. And it isnāt because it is an undiscovered country. One knows well enough that all mankind had streamed that way. It is the charm of universal experience from which one expects an uncommon or personal sensationā āa bit of oneās own.
One goes on recognizing the landmarks of the predecessors, excited, amused, taking the hard luck and the good luck togetherā āthe kicks and the halfpence, as the saying isā āthe picturesque common lot that holds so many possibilities for the deserving or perhaps for the lucky. Yes. One goes on. And the time, too, goes onā ātill one perceives ahead a shadow-line warning one that the region of early youth, too, must be left behind.