Last week I found a treasure at a local secondhand store: a copy of Autobiography of a Yogi for $1. I first encountered this book back in the early '70s. I later read it again in the late '70s. I really love it. I usually let it disappear from my collection of reading material, and then a few years later I'll find another copy and read it again, so that I've probably re-read the book 10 times or more, and I'm sure I've bought copies of it 4 or 5 times over the years. It means all the more to me now because there's no longer a lot of spiritual reading material that resonates with me these days--- I'm more picky and (hopefully) discerning than I was when i was a kid.
Not every single thing in Yogananda's book is totally divine truth, to be sure (for instance, he revered Ramakrishna as a saint, who, it turns out, was a pedophile), but there is nevertheless the ring of veracity to it, and it casts bright ray of cosmic sunlight into our dark culture of materiality. Cults, fads, fashions and trends come and go, but truth never gets old or loses its appeal.