Youth lives on hope, old age on remembrance.
Old age is a disease that you die from.
Memory haunts me from age to age, and passion leads me by the hand--evil have I done, and with sorrow have I made acquaintance from age to age, and from age to age evil shall I do, and sorrow shall I know till my redemption comes.
If it is what it isn’t, it must be love. And I must be in it.
Love is, or you isn’t.
Steam in an open space would just simply scatter in different directions. Steam contained in an engine can move a whole train. Success comes from One-pointedness and Constancy of Aim and Effort.
If a coin comes down heads, that means that the possibility of its coming down tails has collapsed. Until that moment the two possibilities were equal. But on another world, it does come down tails. And when that happens, the two worlds split apart.
Men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, clever; and they die almost at once. They die so soon that our hearts are continually wracked with pain.
There were two worlds, two lives, for each person: this one--brief, narrow, finite; and the hereafter-- eternal, limitless, infinite. Fame, to mean anything, should go with one into the next world, where one could enjoy it perpetually.
Sage?" Adrian lightly touched my arm, and I jumped at the feel of his fingertips against my skin. "You okay?" "I don't know," I said softly. "I just thought of something crazy." "Welcome to my world.
Why on earth would you buy a car like this if you can't drive a stick? There are dozens of cars--new cars--that have automatic transmission. It'd be a million times easier." Adrian shrugged. "I like the color. It matches my living room.
Free women," said Anna, wryly. She added, with an anger new to Molly, so that she earned another quick scrutinizing glance from her friend: "They still define us in terms of relationships with men, even the best of them.
Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease, Of the southward flying swallo...
Old age and poverty are wounds that can't be healed.
Old age cures us of our youth.
Old age does not announce itself.
Dying while young is a boon in old age.
I don't look my age, I don't feel my age and I don't act my age. To me age is just a number.
Stone Age. Bronze Age. Iron Age. We define entire epics of humanity by the technology they use.
I’m crazy in love. I’m just crazy.
Love is like a trapdoor for the heart .
