Old age devours your youth.
Old age though despised, is coveted by all.
I love bookshelves, and stacks of books, spines, typography, and the feel of pages between my fingertips. I love bookmarks, and old bindings, and stars in margins next to beautiful passages. I love exuberant underlinings that recall to me a swoon of ...
The good old days are now.
It is easy to become a monk in one's old age.
Youth lives on hope, old age on remembrance.
An old man loved is winter with flowers.
Old age is a disease that you die from.
When an old man marries, death laughs.
The most faithful mirror is an old friend.
The way prices are rising, the good old days are last week.
What the old ones sing, the young ones whistle.
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.
Home. It's being new and old all rolled into one. Measuring your new against old friends, old ways, old places, Knowing that as long as the old survives, you can keep changing as much as you want without the nightmare of waking up to a total stranger...
When you are old and gray and full of sleep And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.
When you are old and grey and full of sleep And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep
I choose to believe God had a more direct involvement in the creation of my heart and consciousness than in the creation of any book, no matter how thick or old it may be.
The library would've cheered me up, most days. I loved the heavy oaken tables, the high walls stacked with books to the ceiling, the musty smell of old pages and the heavy brass fixtures that had gone dark with age and wear.
