7/3/55

Maturity descends like a slowly collapsing cake, enveloping the individual, pinning his arms, pinning his legs, making walking difficult. Maturity makes one look at a new landscape and say, “well, it’s not bad, it’s not good—but I wouldn’t know what changes to make in it.” Maturity makes you make allowances for everything, makes you forgive the wrong things (because other mature persons do), makes you much too sensible to attempt the difficult. Makes you stop trying practically everything, because you have had time to see something like it done better somewhere else. Worst of all, maturity destroys the self, and makes you like everybody else. Unless, of course, you have the wisdom to become an eccentric. Maturity on the other hand makes you see so many sides and reasons for everything (a form of truth, to be sure) that the direct response becomes impossible—even to things worth responding directly to.