The advice of the old man
The irony of it all is that the advice the old Parisian man gave me while we sat at the café by the park, drinking rosé and eating macaroons, is the same advice I’ll be giving to another young man a generation from now. But this time I’ll pay for the bill. And the young man won’t listen. Just like I didn't listen. Because the advice never makes sense until you’ve lived it, until you've become the old man. And then you want to give the advice to a younger man. And so it goes—generation to generation, time to time. We learn how to live just in time to die.