There are three signs of senility. The first sign is that a man forgets his theorems. The second sign is that he forgets to zip up. The third sign is that he forgets to zip down.
I went from adolescence to senility, trying to bypass maturity.
I am in the prime of senility.
When the going gets tough, the tough reinvent.
In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, old people in America had prayed, "Please God, don't let me look poor." In the year 2000, they prayed, "Please God, don't let me look old." Sexiness was equated with youth, and youth ruled. The most widespread age-related disease was not senility but juvenility.
Term limits would cure both senility and seniority- both terrible legislative diseases.
When the going gets tough, the tough eat ribs.
It is a pledge that senility has not the last say in everything.
You know, I have found a new way to get high and stay spaced out for hours on end, and the government can't stop me... It's called senility.
God how I hate new countries: They are older than the old, more sophisticated, much more conceited, only young in a certain puerile vanity more like senility than anything.
For the general practitioner a well-used library is one of the few correctives of the premature senility which is so apt to take him.
The only difference between a rut and a grave are the dimensions.
When the going gets tough, the tough make cookies.
When the going gets tough, the tough go drinking.
When I was very young and the urge to be someplace was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch.
When the going gets tough, the tough get a librarian.
When the going gets tough, the tough take a nap.
There is nothing worse than an idle hour, with no occupation offering. People who have many such hours are simply animals waiting docilely for death. We all come to that state soon or late. It is the curse of senility.
What really scares me is Alzheimer's or premature senility, losing that ability to read and enjoy and to write. And you do it, and some days maybe aren't so good, and then some days, you really catch a wave, and it's as good as it ever was.
Inflation is the senility of democracies.
I am admonished in many ways that time is pushing me inexorably along. I am approaching the threshold of age; in 1977 I shall be 142. This is no time to be flitting about the earth. I must cease from the activities proper to youth and begin to take on the dignities and gravities and inertia proper to that season of honorable senility which is on its way.
I am in the prime of my senility.
In the modern technoindustrial culture, it is possible to proceed from infancy into senility without ever knowing manhood.
And so I ask myself: 'Where are your dreams?' And I shake my head and mutter: 'How the years go by!' And I ask myself again: 'What have you done with those years? Where have you buried your best moments? Have you really lived? Look,' I say to myself, 'how cold it is becoming all over the world!' And more years will pass and behind them will creep grim isolation. Tottering senility will come hobbling, leaning on a crutch, and behind these will come unrelieved boredom and despair. The world of fancies will fade, dreams will wilt and die and fall like autumn leaves from the trees. . . .
Superficial observers have long criticized the United States for making a fetish of youth. This is unfair. Uniquely among modern organs of public and private administration, its national legislature rewards senility.
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