Aging & Wisdom Quote by Robert Louis Stevenson

A line like this is Stevenson at his most disarmingly brisk: a travel metaphor that smuggles in an obituary. “Cruise” sounds leisurely, even privileged - sun, salt air, the mild illusion of control. Then the trapdoor opens: it’s the last one. By pairing “old and young,” Stevenson refuses the comforting timetable that lets youth imagine itself exempt. The sentence collapses age into a single category: mortal.

The intent isn’t to wallow; it’s to puncture. Stevenson spent much of his life negotiating illness and fragility, writing from the perspective of someone for whom the body was never background noise. That biographical pressure gives the line its particular bite: not a philosopher’s abstraction, but a sick man’s clarity, delivered without melodrama. The diction is plain, almost conversational, which is exactly why it lands. No grand “death,” no “eternity” - just a cruise you’re already on.

The subtext is also quietly democratic. A “cruise” can suggest class and comfort, yet Stevenson levels the passengers: everyone shares the same itinerary, regardless of status, vigor, or self-image. The collective “we” is doing heavy work here, insisting on community in the face of the one fact that isolates everyone.

Culturally, it reads like a late-Victorian corrective to progress-hype - the era’s faith in better machines, longer lives, cleaner futures. Stevenson’s sentence doesn’t argue against improvement; it reminds you that even the sleekest modern journey still ends at the same port.