Habit (n.) and thoughtlessness are the only fathers and godfathers of most banquets.
Habit (n.) is more dangerous than a deceiver: through perpetual comparison with other men it lets you hold the supreme good in lazy common fellowship — and so be defrauded of it.
Habit (n.) is the craftiest enemy because it never lets itself be seen — and whoever sees the habit is saved from it.
Habit (n.) is worse than the vampire bat: the bat only feeds on sleepers, fanning them cool so they sleep sweeter; habit first lulls the waking man to sleep, then sucks his blood.
Habit (n.) turns even its own alarms into habit: you can grow so used to a hundred cannon that you hear a trivial remark at table more clearly than their roar.
Habit (n.) is the one thing that should always be changed — however fixed, never unchangeable; the eternal never becomes old and never becomes habit.
Habit (n.) is hateful to the aesthete: 'I love nature, but I hate second-nature.'
Habit (n.) properly applies only to evil; with reference to the good one can never speak of habit, since one can neither do nor remain in the good without freedom.
Habit (n.) arises as soon as the eternal disappears from repetition.
Habit (n.) can make even rousing thoughts lose their meaning, as a spring loses the resilience that makes it a spring.