In our houses, our villages, our towns, our cities, our nations, time passes. Each individual will be involved, directly or indirectly, in some 150 years of history – before birth, during life, and after his death. Part of this experience will be received from parents or other adults, from old men; part will be received from his own life, and his experience will, in time, become part of his children’s experience. Thus a generation is 150 years. That is how long we live. Our behaviour, our prejudices, our opinions, our preferences are the produce [sic] of the fifty or sixty years before we were born and in the same way do we influence the fifty following our deaths. Such knowledge is apt to make a man like me feel that it is useless to try to alter the nature of his society. It would be pleasant, I think, if we could somehow produce a completely blank generation – a generation which has not acquired the habits of the previous generation and would pass no habits on to the next. Ah, well, I thank you, gentlemen, for listening to this nonsense with patience. I bid you Au Revoir.
‘Prinz Lobkowitz’ in The English Assassin by Michael Moorcock, 1972