Change and Transformation

Life consists in molting our illusions. We form creeds today only to throw them away tomorrow. The eagle molts a feather because he is growing a better one.

But time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly, like a snake.

Considering how common illness is, how tremendous the spiritual change that it brings . . . it becomes strange indeed that illness has not taken its place with love and battle and jealousy among the prime themes in literature.

Every now and then a man’s mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation, and never shrinks back to its former dimensions.

It is the habit of having habits, of turning a trail into a rut, that must be incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive.

One nail drives out another; habit is overcome by habit.

It grows—it must grow; nothing can prevent it.

Habit is a compromise effected between an individual and his environment.

All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous, unpremeditated act without benefit of experience.

Growth is the only evidence of life.

Just as we outgrow a pair of trousers, we outgrow acquaintances, libraries, principles, etc., at times before they’re worn out and at times—and this is the worst of all—before we have new ones.

A man’s growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends.

Old age was growing inside me. It kept catching my eye from the depths of the mirror. I was paralyzed sometimes as I saw it make its way for me so steadily when nothing inside me was ready for it.

Decadence can find agents only when it wears the mask of progress.

IT IS WHAT YOU READ WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO THAT DETERMINES WHAT YOU WILL BE WHEN YOU CAN’T HELP IT.

You can’t teach an old dogma new tricks.

Technological progress has merely provided us with more efficient means for going backwards.

In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stage-coach.

There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.

THE FIXITY OF A HABIT IS GENERALLY IN DIRECT PROPORTION TO ITS ABSURDITY.

THE CHAINS OF HABIT ARE TOO WEAK TO BE FELT UNTIL THEY ARE TOO STRONG TO BE BROKEN.

I DON’T BELIEVE IN AGEING. I BELIEVE IN FOREVER ALTERING ONE’S ASPECT TO THE SUN.

Youth is wholly experimental.

THE HISTORY OF ART IS THE HISTORY OF REVIVALS.