Beware of wishing for anything in youth, because you will get it in middle age.
The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.
Meanness is incurable; it cannot be cured by old age, or by anything else.
More women grow old nowadays through the faithfulness of their admirers than through anything else.
The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young.
Young men want to be faithful and are not; old men want to be faithless and cannot.
It haunts me, the passage of time. I think time is a merciless thing. I think life is a process of burning oneself out and time is the fire that burns you. But I think the spirit of man is a good adversary.
Now, aged fifty, I’m just poised to shoot forth quite free straight and undeflected my bolts whatever they are.
In masks outrageous and austere, The years go by in single file; But none has merited my fear, And none has quite escaped my smile.
An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick.