2009年5月10日 星期日

The End Of The Year


Come to the end of the year, it means I am growing old. I was planning to conquer the Mountain Kinabalu summit as many as possible before it conquers me one day.

A great psychologist said that most men are “old fogies at twenty five.”

He was right. Most men at twenty five are satisfied with their jobs. They have accumulated the little stock of prejudices that they call their “principles” and closed their minds to all new ideas; they have ceased to grow.

The minute a man ceases to grow – no matter what his years – that minute he begins to be old.

On the other hand, the really great man never grows old.

Goethe passed away at eighty three and finished his “Faust” only a few years earlier, Gladstone took up a new language when he was seventy.

Laplace, the astronomer, was still at work when death caught up with him at seventy eight. He died crying: “What we know is nothing; what we do not know is immense.”

And there you have the real answer to the question: “When is a man old?”

Laplace at seventy eight died young. He was still unsatisfied, still sure that he had a lot to learn.

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