Not my words:
“Life is like carrying a message from the child you were to the old man that you will be. You have to make sure that that message isn’t lost along the way.”
When I was little, I used to imagine fine things, to dream of a world without beggars in which everyone was happy. Simple, subtle things. But you lose those things over the course of life. You just work to be able to buy things and you stop seeing the beggar and you stop caring.
Where’s the message of the child I once was?
Maybe the meaning of life is making sure that the message doesn’t disappear.