But time growing old teaches all things.

The tragedian of Athens, Aeschylus, whose pen carved the sorrows and triumphs of gods and mortals alike, declared with solemn authority: “But time growing old teaches all things.” These words, carried from the ancient stage, reveal the slow and relentless schooling of life itself. For no teacher is more patient, no judge more impartial, no sculptor more enduring than time. It strips illusions, unmasks pride, tempers passion, and in its long march, teaches all lessons, whether men desire them or not.

The origin of this saying lies within the tragedies of Aeschylus, who lived in the shadow of war and the birth of democracy. He saw kingdoms rise and fall, witnessed men undone by arrogance, and understood that wisdom was not born in a single moment but gathered drop by drop across the years. In his plays, the proud kings and reckless heroes often ignored counsel, only to learn—through suffering—that time reveals truths hidden from the hasty and the young.

The ancients knew that time was both destroyer and teacher. The Greeks gave us Chronos, the devourer of all things, yet also the revealer of hidden wisdom. The Romans, too, inscribed upon their monuments the phrase tempus omnia revelat—“time reveals all.” This was not a counsel of despair, but of patience: what is hidden today will be uncovered tomorrow; what is misunderstood in youth will be clarified in age. Thus, Aeschylus proclaims that it is not merely men or laws that teach, but the slow unfolding of life itself.

Consider the story of Nelson Mandela, who spent 27 years in prison. In his youth he was fiery, quick to strike, a man of action more than patience. Yet in the long years of captivity, time itself became his teacher. It softened his fury into discipline, deepened his vision into wisdom, and transformed him into a leader who could unite a fractured nation. What books could not teach, what speeches could not impart, time delivered through the silent weight of waiting.

This is the meaning of Aeschylus’ words: we may resist teachers of flesh and blood, but no one escapes the hand of time. The impatient soul, demanding answers now, will stumble and rage. The patient soul, enduring and observing, will emerge wiser. Every sorrow, every triumph, every passing year carries lessons within it, if only we have the humility to learn. In this way, time itself becomes the greatest philosopher, shaping us with neither haste nor mercy.

Therefore, let us take heed: do not despise the slowness of learning. Do not lament that wisdom comes late, for it is always timely when it arrives. Trust that in your struggles, in your losses, in your waiting, time is teaching you what no sudden revelation could. Just as the oak does not spring up in a day, nor the river carve the canyon in a season, so too the soul gathers strength and clarity only through the patient march of years.

In practice, I counsel this: embrace patience as a discipline. Reflect often on what time has already taught you—lessons from failure, from betrayal, from endurance, from love. Write them down, honor them, and let them guide your choices. When hardship comes, do not ask only, “Why me?” but also, “What is time teaching me here?” For if you listen, you will find that even suffering carries wisdom.

Thus, remember the timeless words of Aeschylus: time growing old teaches all things. Live not as one who demands all answers today, but as one who trusts that each day is a page in the book of wisdom. For when time has finished its teaching, your life itself shall stand as testimony to truths no one could have learned in haste.