old-age

I am deep in my willed habits. From the outside, I suppose I look like an unoccupied house with one unconvincing night-light left on. Any burglar could look through my curtains and conclude I am empty. But he would be mistaken. Under that one light unstirred by movement or shadows there is a man at work, and as long as I am at work I am not a candidate for Menlo Park, or that terminal facility they cynically call a convalescent hospital, or a pine box. My habits and the unchanging season sustain me. Evil is what questions and disrupts.

Unless a writer is extremely old when he dies, in which case he has probably become a neglected institution, his death must always be seen as untimely. This is because a real writer is always shifting and changing and searching. The world has many labels for him, of which the most treacherous is the label of 'Success.

They did not kill Hunger, for people were made to always want new things to taste. They did not destroy Poverty, for poverty reminds us to be humble. They did not destroy Sleep, for people sometimes need to forget their troubles and restore their energy. And they did not defeat Old Age, for there must always be room for the new people being born.

I'm past competing in pissing contests. My jet stream is now more of a trickle. The only contest I'd win is the number of trips to the bathroom it takes to purge a 32oz soda.

You ought to love and care for your parents in their old age.

With great abilities come great responsibilities; great power comes with great assignments.With great age comes great reasoning; great actions come great experience.With great battles come great victories; great trees come with great tap roots.However, if a little faith can move great mountains, what then will a great faith do? Mysterious things... I guess

The Sunday morning choir raised their voices to fever pitch with another gospel tune. Slurring voices filled with thick drawls of the local accent. The choir a mix of young girls her own age, alongside elderly women, with a few men thrown in for good measure. The old ladies wore tight gray buns and librarian glasses. Could they have ever been young? Could their husbands have?

One's own yesterday is a ghost that will not be laid down.

In her 20__, a woman__ breasts double her self-esteem. In her 40__, they halve it.

There is no old age. There is, as there always was, only you.

Youthful exuberance is splendid.

though aging reduces speed, it increases experience and understanding

Aging is not our fault, but we certainly are guilty of feeling it.

Sunrise paints the sky with pinks and the sunset with peaches. Cool to warm. So is the progression from childhood to old age.

Death has become so predictable that I have neither the youthful reverence of it nor the middle-age fear.

My aunt must have been perfectly well aware that she would not see Swann again, that she would never leave her own house any more, but this ultimate seclusion seemed to be accepted by her with all the more readiness for the very reason which, to our minds, ought to have made it more unbearable; namely, that such a seclusion was forced upon her by the gradual and steady diminution in her strength which she was able to measure daily, which, by making every action, every movement 'tiring' to her if not actually painful, gave to inaction, isolation and silence the blessed, strengthening and refreshing charm of repose.

Do not forget you mother, when she is old.

For most of her life she just expected things would work out, that people would be kind. Now she recognized her good fortune for what it was. She'd been lucky in so much, it had left her woefully unprepared for old age.