Young men value not what they possess, yet, as old men, they hold on dearly to whatever they had not lost. The youth shall leap into a chilly mere, caring little for the harm; the middle-aged man shall slowly wade in, expecting to adjust to the chill; the old man shall not hazard his health on such a transient pleasure. Youth is arrogant, for it learneth not from the hurts of others, but only from its own. The youth shall persist in jumping into chilly water, crossing all well-meant advice, till his vigor is gone. Only by sacrificing his robustness, doeth he gain the wisdom for entering the lake leisurely. And yet, if young men partook from the wisdom of the old, the wisdom would not persist, for wisdom learned by words carries no understanding. If for, the moment, the youth was obligated to enter water slowly, he would see that the old men were envious or near-sighted, and follow the advice by duty, not insight. As these young men grew old, they would not proscribe the injurious practice. These men would endeavor to surpass their ancestors in compassion and tolerance, but instead bring together with harm the lost wisdom upon their progeny. Thus the succession must go on: the wise men taught by grief shall always fail to enlighten the young men; the old, but unenlightened shall by their imagined kindness force anguish, and thus wisdom, upon the young.
With apologies to Francis Bacon.