Childhood itself is scarcely more lovely than a cheerful, kindly, sunshiny old age.
Not everything in old age is grim. I haven’t walked through an airport for years, and wheelchairs are the way to travel.
Old age is a shipwreck.
Filth and old age, I’m sure you will agree, are powerful wardens upon chastity.
New poems no longer come to me with their prodigies of metaphor and assonance. Prose endures. I feel the circles grow smaller, and old age is a ceremony of losses, which is, on the whole, preferable to dying at forty-seven or fifty-two.
Bashfulness is an ornament to youth, but a reproach to old age.
Let us never know what old age is. Let us know the happiness time brings, not count the years.
Old age and the passage of time teach all things.
Error is acceptable as long as we are young; but one must not drag it along into old age.
My problem isn’t death but old age. I fret about my lack of balance, my buckling knee, my difficulty standing up and sitting down.