When we picture life as a journey, there are a thousand things which will prove it to be so. When we are on a journey we are with a great many other people, looking at life and going forward. Those who have arrived at their station have got out of the train; and the little friendship or sympathy or antipathy that existed between us only lasted till then. Those who went on have left behind the impression of them which we carry with us. That impression makes us either happy or unhappy; either it makes us love them even in their absence, or it makes us hate them, hoping that we shall never see them again. When we think of yesterday, of last week, of the last months, of the years that have passed in our lives, it only shows that they have passed and we have gone on. It is like the sensation that one has in the train, as though the train were standing still and the trees were moving. In life we have the same sensation, that life is passing and we are standing still.