A Habit (n.) has only one cure: the contrary habit.
A Habit (n.) is fed by its own acts: walking makes the walker, and every outburst of temper is fresh fuel thrown on the fire, not a passing event.
Habit (n.) must be bent like a warped plank: inclined to pleasure, I go to the opposite side of the rolling ship, and beyond measure.
Habit (n.) can be fought only by the contrary habit — tear yourself away from “poor man, he died before his time, in a foreign land.”
Habit (n.) makes acts preserve the man who does them: faithful acts the faithful man, and shamelessness the shameless, wrath the wrathful.
Habit (n.) is strengthened by the corresponding act: each fit of anger is not one evil but fuel added to the flame.