The first two paragraphs of actress Mary Astor’s autobiography My Story, ©1959:
People have often said to me, “You haven’t changed a bit!” They meant it as a compliment, but I could hear it only as an accusation, a statement of brutal fact.
And I have thought bitterly, “You are so right!” For I knew that if I had not changed I had not grown. To be a perennial child, an ethereal Peter Pan playing with pirates and Indians through all eternity, can be a lovely thing in the never-never land of fantasy, but it is an unhappy thing in life. The child is born so that he may become a man. It is his destiny to grow– to learn, to understand, to assume responsibilities. Growth can be painful, I know; but I have found that a stunted and retarded growth can be a pain beyond belief.