The Adventures of Tom Sawyer | Mark Twain

That drop was falling when the pyramids were still new, and at the fall of Troy, and when Rome's foundations were laid, and when Christ was crucified, and when the conquerors established the Greek Empire, and when Columbus sailed, and when the Lexington Massacre was still news. It is falling now, and it will continue to fall when all these things become part of the age of history, and the dusk of traditions, and are swallowed by the night of dense oblivion. Does everything have a purpose and a mission? Has this drop continued to fall patiently for five thousand years, to be there when this human insect that catches its breath needs it? And does it have another important thing to accomplish after ten thousand years? It doesn't matter. Many years have passed since the miserable Khlasi carved the stone so that the priceless drops could gather, but even today, the longest thing a tourist gazes at when visiting the MacDugal Cave is that pathetic stone and that water slowly dripping. And the Enjun Joe cup stands at the top of the list of cave wonders, even surpassing Aladdin's palace.