Quotes About Old

A thump thump thump noise that was so unfamiliar, and yet I couldn't quite place it. But I knew it. It was---Mmm-hmmm, Monica murmured, just as Wes came view into the path. He was running, his pace quick and steady. He was in shorts, his shirt off, staring ahead as he passed. His back was tan and gleaming with sweat. God god! she said finally, fanning her face with her hand, I've seen it a million times but it just never gets old. Never.

such volumes of philosophy had the air of old men about them: venerable but having lost the energy to influence a world that had moved on from them.

The old continued to have one resurgence of foolishness after another, until the organism gave out altogether.

My soul is like a pawn shop. I mean it's filled with unredeemed pleasures, old clarinets, and cameras, and motheaten fur.

Anyway, it was an age of spiritual exhaustion—all the old dreams were dreamed out. I was angry; I burned like that furnace; reading more, sick with rage.

the old lady to the movies or reading. Once in a while he slipped away to a lecture. He was studying law too. Grammick wasn't going to be sucked away from all private existence. I went along with this rush

Once a happy old man One can never change the core of things, and light burns you the harder for it.

full of stories about the old man's exploits. As for the house at 100 High Street, it was

I can't understand why people are frightened of new ideas. I'm frightened of the old ones.

I can't understand why people are frightened of new ideas. I'm frightened of the old ones.

It is also to be noticed, that   the old man is distinguished by his works, as a tree is by its fruits.  

Senility is best described in the old tongue, duine le Dia, for in that phrase is a kinder, more understanding view of the condition. Its literal meaning is "a person of God," for only the person's maker can now understand him.

In the old house, the past hung in the air like motes of dust waiting to be illuminated by the sharp rays of memory

Now he preferred his newspapers, with their long columns of print, each letter painstakingly laid out by hand to create something that would lose its relevance almost as soon as it appeared on the newsstands, the news within already old and dying by the time it was read, quickly overtaken by events in the world beyond.

it takes time to get used to a strange house, especially one as old as this. Even I sometimes find myself looking over my shoulder when I'm alone in it. It's the way of such places, isn't it? They wear their history heavily.

These stories were very old, as old as people, and they had survived because they were very powerful indeed. These were the tales that echoed in the head long after the books that contained them were cast aside. They were both an escape from reality and an alternative reality themselves.

High on the hilltop The old King sits; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits. —Allingham, The Fairies

There was an old woman Who lived under the hill And if she's not gone She lives there still.

Learning to decipher words had only added to the pleasures of holding spines and turning pages, measuring the journey to the end with a thumb-riffle, poring over frontispieces. Books! Opening with a crackle of old glue, releasing perfume; closing with a solid thump. He liked them big; he liked them old; he liked them best in many volumes

Old friend, there are people—young and old—that I like, and people that I do not like. The former are always in short supply. I am turned off by humorless fanaticism, whether it's revolutionary mumbo-jumbo by a young one, or loud lessons from scripture by and old one. We are all comical, touching, slapstick animals, walking on our hind legs, trying to make it a noble journey from womb to tomb, and the people who can't see it all that way bore hell out of me.

The psalmist agreed: Young men and maidens together, old men and children! Let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name alone is exalted; his majesty is above earth and heaven. (Ps. 148:12–13)

Well-being changes as we move through life, which is why a child's version of it cannot be the same as an old person's.

I'm just too busy living every day to really spend a lot of time thinking 'am I old?' I'm this age. I am in this moment and in this life.

Home life is best for me. But I do enjoy the company of good friends whether from long ago or newer friends who only know me as George, not the ex-Beatle.