When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age.
Forty is the old age of youth; fifty the youth of old age.
There are fathers who do not love their children; there is no grandfather who does not adore his grandson.
When grace combines with wrinkles, it is admirable. There is an indescribable light of dawn about intensely happy old age. . . . The young person is handsome, but the old, superb.
In my old age there is a coming into flower. My body wanes; my mind waxes.
When people look back at their childhood or youth, their wistfulness comes from the memory, not of what their lives had been in those years, but of what life had then promised to be. The expectation of some indefinable splendor, of the unusual, the exciting, the great is an attribute of youth and the process of aging is the process of that expectations' gradual extinction. One does not have to let it happen. But that fire dies for lack of fuel, under the gray weight of disappointments.
Whenever a man's friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure that they think he is growing old.
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