Maturity/experience: the beguiling texture of stones subjected to years of furious seas.
Aging is something! It always makes you remember yesterday!
(p. pr. & vb. n.) of Age
My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?
Most people don't grow up. Most people age. They find parking spaces, honor their credit cards, get married, have children, and call that maturity. What that is, is aging.
Getting older comes with abilities. Being old comes with disabilities.
Grow old with me! The best is yet to be The last of life for which the first was made: Our times are in his hands Who sayeth "a whole I plant Youth shows but half Trust God see all nor be afraid....
Here's a new day. 0 Pendulum move slowly!
Before you contradict an old man my fair friend you should endeavour to understand him.
I really believe that more harm is done by old men who cling to their influence than by young men who anticipate it.
The individual succumbs but he does not die if he has left something to mankind.
Never have I enjoyed youth so thoroughly as I have in my old age. In writing Dialogues in Limbo The Last Puritan and now all these descriptions of the friends of my youth and the young friends of my...
When pain ends gain ends too.
When I was very young I was disgracefully intolerant but when I passed the thirty mark I prided myself on having learned the beautiful lesson that all things were good and equally good. That howeve...
Some women I talk to are so frightened of growing old. I sense their desperation. They say things like I m not going to live to be old I m not going to live to be dependent. The message young women ge...
I am growing old of course, but I am still in the early stages of disintegration, and regarded as just about cool enough by some fashionable young ppl to be permitted to think aloud.
An old man loved is Winter with flowers.
An older author is constantly rediscovering himself in the more or less fossilized productions of his earlier years.
But Lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me Upon my yowthe and on my jolitee It tickleth me aboute myn herte roote. Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote That I have had my world as in my tyme. But...
I haven't asked you to make me young again. All I want is to go on getting older.
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
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