One cannot change, that is to say become a different person, while continuing to acquiesce to the feelings of the person one has ceased to be. - Marcel Proust

This was many years ago. The staircase wall on which I saw the rising glimmer of his candle has long since ceased to exist. In me, too, many things have been destroyed that I thought were bound to last forever and new ones have formed that have given birth to new sorrows and joys which I could not have foreseen then, just as the old ones have been difficult for me to understand. It was a very long time ago, too, that my father ceased to be able to say to Mama, “Go with the boy.” The possibility of such hours will never be reborn for me.

...love, and consequently fear, of the crowd being one of the most powerful motives in all human beings...

A work in which there are theories is like an object which still has its price-tag on.