Quotes About Aging

Suicide is much easier and more acceptable in Hollywood than growing old gracefully.

She remembers that she is forgetting. She remembers less and less every day.

Above ground, many of us are ungainly and awkward, slowing down with the years.... Down below, at the pool, we are restored to old youthful selves. Grey hairs vanish beneath dark blue swim caps. Brows unfurrow, limps disappear.

In growing older, we become our parents.

I kind of imagine myself at eighty, a cat lady.

pero se le veía preocupado ya por la proximidad del final, algo que ocurre, según nos dijo, no cuando la edad te lo indica sino cuando los amigos empiezan a dejarte solo.

La tragedia de los profesores es que cada curso que pasa tenemos un año más, mientras que nuestros alumnos tienen los mismos siempre.

Había transcurrido tanto tiempo desde entonces, había acumulado tanto olvido en mi mirada que ya apenas podía ver las huellas que, en su rostro, el paso de los años había ido dejando.

The older we get the more we seem to think that everything was better in the past.

We're all under the streetlamps, everyone's the color of day-old piss. When I'm fifty, this is how I'll remember my friends: tired and yellow and drunk.

When you're sixteen a body like this is free; when you're forty it's a full-time occupation.

A hundred years ago, our ancestors could expect fewer than fifty birthdays—and even that was nearly twenty more than the global average. In 2010, the worldwide average had risen to 67.2 years, and even 78.2 years in the United States. That

That was the heart of the matter. A new world was coming; a new world was already here. Maybe that was what getting older taught you, when you looked in the mirror and saw the passage of time in your face, when you looked at your sleeping daughter and saw the girl you once were and would never be again. The world was real and you were in it, a brief part but still a part, and if you were lucky, and maybe even if you weren't, the things you'd done for love would be remembered.

The progress of her aging seemed to occur in fits and starts, not so much a matter of physical growth as a deepening self-possession, as if she were coming into ownership of her life.

What were the living dead, Wolgast thought, but a metaphor for the misbegotten march of middle age?

In the past, when she'd looked at her reflection, she had still seen the little girl she'd once been; the woman in the mirror had still been an extension of her girlhood self. Now it was the future she saw. The wrinkles would deepen; her skin would sag; the lights of her eyes would dim. Her youth was fading, easing into the past.

Maybe that was what getting older taught you, when you looked in the mirror and saw the passage of time in your face, when you looked at your sleeping daughter and saw the girl you once were and would never be again. The world was real and you were in it, a brief part but still a part, and if you were lucky, and maybe even if you weren't, the things you'd done for love would be remembered.

But I suppose it's part of being old to feel that way, half in one world and half in the other, all of it mixed together in my mind. No one's left who even knows my name. Folks call me Auntie, on account of I never could have children of my own, and I guess that suits me fine. Sometime it's like I've got so many people inside of me I'm never alone at all. And when I go, I'll be taking them with me.

What were the living dead, Wolgast thought, but a metaphor for the misbegotten march of middle age? It

His old man, who'd smoked like he did, had spent the last five years of his life in a little cart sucking on a tank, until he'd done the big face-plant just a month before his sixtieth birthday.

as the years had passed

But such was her fortitude that she stayed at Les Naÿssès until the age of ninety, living there alone after Hervé's death in September 1989. She died on 17 June 2008, having continued to work in her garden almost until the

Admiration is a wonderful thing. I like it the same way I like hundred-year-old brandy, and both of them come my way about as frequently. The other similarity is the way it goes to my head,

The mind of age is like a lamp Whose oil is running thin; One moment it is shining bright, Then darkness closes in.