Life & Wisdom Quote by Richard Le Gallienne

Le Gallienne gives nature the manners of a traveler you can never quite catch: always pulling in, always pulling out, never stopping long enough to be possessed. The sentence moves like a tide, driven by the drumbeat of “forever” and the paired verbs of arrival and disappearance. It’s an incantation against the modern itch to pin the world down, to make beauty stay put. Nature, in his telling, isn’t a landscape; it’s a procession.

The trick is the pivot from loss to gesture. “Vanishing” usually implies a clean cut, but he insists on “the waving of a hand” - a small, human sign that turns absence into relationship. That wave carries the subtext: change isn’t betrayal, it’s cadence. Seasons don’t “end” so much as they keep appointments. By framing parting as “a promise of meetings farther along the road,” he smuggles consolation into impermanence without denying it. The comfort isn’t that nothing disappears; it’s that disappearance is patterned, legible, almost courteous.

Context matters: Le Gallienne is writing out of a late-Victorian/fin-de-siecle sensibility that’s both weary of industrial acceleration and hungry for spiritual reassurance outside orthodox religion. Nature becomes a secular faith, offering continuity without guarantees. The road image is quietly radical in an era of growing mobility: instead of yearning for a fixed pastoral refuge, he imagines meaning as something you encounter repeatedly, differently, while moving. The line sells transience as intimacy - not a wound, but a way the world keeps touching you.