H.G. Wells wrote:
"What personalities you will encounter in life, and have for a chief interest in life, is nearly as much a matter of chance as the drift of a grain of pollen in the pine forest.
In other school rooms and nurseries, in slum living rooms, perhaps, or workhouse wards or palaces, round the other side of the Earth, in Canada or Russia or China, other little creatures are trying their small limbs, clutching at things about them with infantile hands, who some day will come into your life with a power and magic monstrous and irrational and irresistible. They will break the limits of your concentrating self, call you out to the service of beauty and the service of race, sound you to your highest and your lowest, give you your chance to be godlike or ignoble.
These unknowns are the substance of your fate. You will love them, hate them, serve them, struggle with them, and in that interaction the vital force in you and the substance of your days will be spent.
And who they may be, and their peculiar quality and effect, is haphazard, utterly beyond designing."