Quotes About Old

But this city is a world of its own, a country within a country. People are used to taking the old and making it news; and used, too, to taking the new and making it old. Every glass of water from its taps, it is said, has passed six times through the kidneys of another, and every scrap of its land has been trodden on, fought over, dug up and broken down for centuries.

Experience - the wisdom that enables us to recognise in an undesirable old acquaintance the folly that we have already embraced.

The Arch Lector closed his eyes. Crushing news, especially for him, but Orso could have sworn he saw a wry smile at the corner of the old Inquisitor`s mouth. 'Body found floating by the docks,' he murmured.

Repetition – the curse of the old.

Stour was the future of the North. Always had been. And with all those old warriors lying slaughtered on the bloody floor of the hall, it seemed the future had come early.

He looked around his quarters. Or Davoust's quarters. That's where an old wizard terrified me in the middle of the night. That's where I watched the city burn. That's where I was nearly eaten by a fourteen-year-old girl. Ah, the happy memories . . .

Our history was by then nothing but rocks, some scratches in the dirt, some huts, fuzzy memories passed on carelessly from the old to the young. Bottom line, we were pretty ignorant and there was a flea problem.

I can't believe he stabbed the guy. Eight years old. I'm the most irresponsible kidnapper ever.

One wastes so much time, one is so prodigal of life, at twenty! Our days of winter count for double. That is the compensation of the old.

Cheerfulness ought to be the viaticum vitae of their life to the old; age without cheerfulness is a Lapland winter without a sun.

As to London we must console ourselves with the thought that if life outside is less poetic than it was in the days of old, inwardly its poetry is much deeper.

A child is beset with long traditions. And his infancy is so old, so old, that the mere adding of years in the life to follow will not seem to throw it further back -- it is already so far.

Although the 'New York Times' annually declares that Broadway is on its deathbed, news of its demise is greatly exaggerated. There's a lot of life yet in the old tart.

No doubt any connoisseur, any collector, some bored old millionaire when he shows off his treasures, is seeking in your praise the resurrection and the life.

Science, like life, feeds on its own decay. New facts burst old rules; then newly divined conceptions bind old and new together into a reconciling law.

I am going to enjoy life in Paris I know. It is so human and there is something noble in the city... It is a real city, old and fine and life plays in it for everybody to see.

Gwendolyn rubbed the corner of the cape with her fingers and began to pout. "I don't like it. It's old and it's not pink." "I know!" Annie said. "I think it's perfect!

Those funny old days, when men went for change of air instead of changing the air in their rooms! And

Learning new things can be easy when there is no unlearning involved. But if the new learning has to displace some old habits of telling, two anxieties come into play that have to be managed. First, survival anxiety is the realization that unless we learn the new behavior, we will be at a disadvantage (metaphorically threatened by extinction). Survival anxiety provides the motivation to learn, even if it is mostly nervous energy.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made;Stronger by weakness, wiser, men becomeAs they draw near to their eternal home.Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Still must the poet as of old, In barren attic bleak and cold, Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to Such things as flowers and song and you; Still as of old his being give In Beauty's name, while she may live, Beauty that may not die as long As there are flowers and you and song.

Few Come This Way Few come this way; not that the darkness Deters them, but they come Reluctant here who fear to find, Thickening the darkness, what they left behind Sucking its cheeks before the fire at home, The palsied Indecision from whose dancing head Precipitately they fled, only to come again Upon him here, Clutching at the wrist of Venture with a cold Hand, aiming to fall in with him, companion Of the new as of the old.

As to the charge that I am a cranky old man, I plead guilty.

Lifting her lovely and longing face towards the inaudible chant of the sun, she drifted through her time, through space, through the concatenate cells of her unfolding self. Where to now, Abbzug? You're twenty-eight and a half years old, Abbzug.