Quotes About Middle-aged

We should, if possible, prove a teacher to posterity, instead of being the pupil of by-gone generations. More shall come after us than have gone before; the world is not yet middle-aged.

A white middle-aged American man walking around with his white middle-aged American sorrows? Jesus, I guess so. Arthur. Sorry to tell you this. It's a little hard to feel sorry for a guy like that. Even gay? Even gay.

For while our middle-aged author would probably consider himself a Rosencrantz or Guildenstern, certainly never a protagonist, the truth of existence has not quite pierced his soul: That in real life, there are no protagonists. Or, rather, the reverse: Itss nothing but protagonists. It's protagonists all the way down.

I kept looking around the bleachers at the audience, middle-aged people in practical clothes. Every single one of them cared about love, but how much? A lot, or only a little bit? The opera went on for a long time. Eventually the two youngest people onstage got married, so we could all go home.

I am essentially a middle-aged woman who likes making up weird snack combinations and galloping.

And like most middle-aged people who hear the clock ticking in their lives, I had come to resent a waste or theft of my time that was greater than any theft of my goods or money.

I'm a middle-aged dad, which means I have no social time or life to speak of, and so I connect with my buddies with my Xbox.

good lady" was anything but fair. She was middle-aged, overweight and plain in the extreme. But that was no reason why she should be subjected to this sort of terror, Halt thought grimly. She held back, whimpering with fear at the sight of the black figure before her.

Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?" wrote Marlowe, the man Shakespeare feared for many years was the better writer, the man who with those words issued a license to misery to millions of underexperienced teenagers and thousands of overeducated middle-aged jackasses.

I accidentally make innuendos all the time without even realising. I'm middle-aged, in that sense.

The middle-aged, who have lived through their strongest emotions, but are yet in the time when memory is still half passionate and not merely contemplative, should surely be a sort of natural priesthood, whom life has disciplined and consecrated to be the refuge and rescue of early stumblers and victims of self-despair.

I moved from Moscow to Rome with my family and two bicycles in 1998, and spent a lot of that year- and the next - obsessed, I am sorry to admit, with the bicycles. Italy, after all, was a place where thousands of middle-aged men felt perfectly comfortable spending many hours a week in brightly colored spandex.

How had I become middle-aged while the ravages of time ignored her? I didn't know and didn't care, and before I could stop them, the words were already out. "You're beautiful," I murmured.

The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon," Thoreau noted mournfully, "or perchance a palace or temple on the earth, and at length the middle-aged man concludes to build a wood-shed with them.

We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers, we want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, cosiness and thrills, but we can't have it all.

The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled

I thought: racism is over, sexism is over, bigotry is over. I was in for a rude awakening. It's like a nightmare ... Trump is someone who was around when I was that age, we heard about him all the time. When my uncle came to America we took him to see Trump Tower. I'm middle-aged now, and he's my president? I mean, how is that possible?

Ghost stories belong to the middle-aged, thought it's always the young who play the dramas.

ESPARA, FORMERLY a seat of prestige only one step below Therim Pel itself, had descended from its imperial years the way some men and women descend into middle-aged lethargy, discarding the vigor and ambition of youth like a suit of clothes that can no longer be wriggled into.

features that speak much more to what a middle-aged person desires for a parent than to what the parent does.

suddenly in the throng, arms up, clapping to the music, dancing in the way that middle-aged people do, badly, but with the confidence that comes from the fact that they no longer care, that sometimes just the act of dancing, letting go in a room of people while a beat thumps through your veins, is an act of rebellion against the dark, against the tough times that will inevitably come tomorrow.

I saw a Vacancy sign in a brownstone on Lexington Avenue, rang the bell, the door swung open, and there she was: a squat, middle-aged woman with a purple velvet bow perched on her raven-dyed hair and a look of delighted astonishment on her face. She was encased in a dress of iridescent taffeta; on her feet, over her stockings, she wore tan socks and over these—high heeled patent leather pumps.

The river barge Binkey's Sequin reminded me of a shopkeeper's wife. She was middle-aged, middle class, a little run down, a little overweight, extremely stubborn and set in her ways, needing masterful coaxing and cajoling to get her to give her loving best, but also faithful and warm and unsinkably optimistic in her care for her children.

The worst part of age was the feeling of helplessness, of being disengaged from life. The middle-aged treated the old with the same serenely contemptuous condescension they used for children.