"One does not get better but different and older and that is always a pleasure"
About this Quote
Self-improvement is a Victorian parlor trick; time has other plans. Gertrude Stein’s line shrugs off the moral bookkeeping embedded in “better” and swaps it for something she trusted more: change. For Stein, becoming “different” isn’t a consolation prize for failing at virtue. It’s the point. The sentence moves like her prose often does, sidestepping linear progress and turning identity into a series of revisions: not upgrades, but edits.
The subtext is quietly rebellious. “Better” implies a standard, a judge, a ladder you’re supposed to climb. Stein, who made a life out of choosing her own criteria - in art, in love, in community - refuses that script. “Older” arrives without apology, then gets braided to “pleasure,” an audacious pairing in a culture that treats aging (especially for women) as either tragedy or invisibility. She doesn’t claim aging makes you wiser or purer. She claims it makes you altered, and that alteration can be enjoyed.
Context matters: Stein lived through modernism’s break with inherited forms, and she helped stage that rupture from her Paris salon to her experiments in repetition and perception. “Different” is modernism’s mandate, but she makes it intimate. The line reads like a manifesto for creative longevity: don’t chase improvement as if you’re a product; let time estrange you from your earlier self. The pleasure is not in arriving. It’s in becoming harder to summarize.
The subtext is quietly rebellious. “Better” implies a standard, a judge, a ladder you’re supposed to climb. Stein, who made a life out of choosing her own criteria - in art, in love, in community - refuses that script. “Older” arrives without apology, then gets braided to “pleasure,” an audacious pairing in a culture that treats aging (especially for women) as either tragedy or invisibility. She doesn’t claim aging makes you wiser or purer. She claims it makes you altered, and that alteration can be enjoyed.
Context matters: Stein lived through modernism’s break with inherited forms, and she helped stage that rupture from her Paris salon to her experiments in repetition and perception. “Different” is modernism’s mandate, but she makes it intimate. The line reads like a manifesto for creative longevity: don’t chase improvement as if you’re a product; let time estrange you from your earlier self. The pleasure is not in arriving. It’s in becoming harder to summarize.
Quote Details
| Topic | Aging |
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