Book IV - Age 15 to Age 20

How swiftly life passes here below! The first quarter of it is gone
before we know how to use it; the last quarter finds us incapable
of enjoying life. At first we do not know how to live; and when
we know how to live it is too late. In the interval between these
two useless extremes we waste three-fourths of our time sleeping,
working, sorrowing, enduring restraint and every kind of suffering.
Life is short, not so much because of the short time it lasts, but
because we are allowed scarcely any time to enjoy it. In vain is
there a long interval between the hour of death and that of birth;
life is still too short, if this interval is not well spent.

We are born, so to speak, twice over; born into existence, and born
into life; born a human being, and born a man. Those who regard woman
as an imperfect man are no doubt mistaken, but they have external
resemblance on their side. Up to the age of puberty children of
both sexes have little to distinguish them to the eye, the same
face and form, the same complexion and voice, everything is the
same; girls are children and boys are children; one name is enough
for creatures so closely resembling one another. Males whose development
is arrested preserve this resemblance all their lives; they are
always big children; and women who never lose this resemblance seem
in many respects never to be more than children.

But, speaking generally, man is not meant to remain a child. He
leaves childhood behind him at the time ordained by nature; and this
critical moment, short enough in itself, has far-reaching consequences.

As the roaring of the waves precedes the tempest, so the murmur
of rising passions announces this tumultuous change; a suppressed
excitement warns us of the approaching danger. A change of temper,
frequent outbreaks of anger, a perpetual stirring of the mind,
make the child almost ungovernable. He becomes deaf to the voice
he used to obey; he is a lion in a fever; he distrusts his keeper
and refuses to be controlled.

With the moral symptoms of a changing temper there are perceptible
changes in appearance. His countenance develops and takes the stamp
of his character; the soft and sparse down upon his cheeks becomes
darker and stiffer. His voice grows hoarse or rather he loses it
altogether. He is neither a child nor a man and cannot speak like
either of them. His eyes, those organs of the soul which till
now were dumb, find speech and meaning; a kindling fire illumines
them, there is still a sacred innocence in their ever brightening
glance, but they have lost their first meaningless expression; he
is already aware that they can say too much; he is beginning to
learn to lower his eyes and blush, he is becoming sensitive, though