The romance of life begins and ends with two blank pages. Age and extreme old age.
What makes old age so sad is, not that our joys, but that our hopes then cease.
As winter strips the leaves from around us, so that we may see the distant regions they formerly concealed, so old age takes away our enjoyments only to enlarge the prospect of the coming eternity.
Memory, wit, fancy, acuteness, cannot grow young again in old age, but the heart can.
It is not the end of joy that makes old age so sad, but the end of hope.
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