Quotes About Aging

Old women are more reconciled to death than old men. By bringing life to the world, we come to see ourselves as debtors. What's given is taken.

Sometimes he would stare at the bare trees for so long, they would lose their radial dimensions and seem something flat, like blood smeared into the wrinkles about an old woman's eyes.

I'm old, girl. Gonna die of something. Might as well be chocolate.

I had a hard time picturing my father in high school. My father never gave any indication that he'd once been young. Gem, on the other hand, wore all of the ages she'd ever been at the same time. I could trust that.

The last twenty years had not been kind to him. He looked beaten by time, shrunken by care- and glad to be gone.

The romantic fragrances of yellowing paper

at that point when friends and loved ones began to pass away ever more frequently. The essential loneliness that was a key thread in the weave of life, which everyone strove not to think about, now became a truth that she could no longer avoid considering.

Yet we humans have the hubris to think we can build eternal cities, stop the aging process, control the climate

Fiftyish, with a thickening waist and thinning blond hair, he had the weary look of a man who'd seen more death than he had bargained for when the romance of the healer's profession had long ago lured him into medical school.

I'm not getting forgetful. I'm not that old. Yet first my slippers, now the door lock.

Not knowing what else to try, she got out her heavy cast-iron skillet and banged it against the top of the rad in hopes of reviving the ageing pipes. The noise was deafening, vibrating through the room like a jet aircraft crashing through the sound barrier.

I suppose there will be the time when I'll need to consider moving into one of those assisted-living complexes. At my age it's difficult to make significant changes, but then that's life.

now? When she looked at herself she saw her outside changing, growing older, while inside she still felt young. Aging was a strange thing—made you feel like you were wearing a striped shirt and plaid pants. Mismatched. Because you never felt as old inside as you looked on the outside.

Happy people look young. You're really afraid of getting older, aren't you? You should only be afraid of getting less happy.

As soon as you notice your first wrinkle and your first white hair, sigh with ease. You are well on your way to becoming who you always wanted to be." VÉRONIQUE VIENNE French journalist Christophe, who's had many amorous experiences on both sides of the Atlantic, sums it up this way: "French women are more comfortable being naked than American women.

As soon as you notice your first wrinkle and your first white hair, sigh with ease. You are well on your way to becoming who you always wanted to be." VÉRONIQUE VIENNE

Men got better with age, like wine. Women, on the other hand, were like cheese- aged was good to a degree, then came the mold and the inevitable casting aside.

I hit a low place," she began. "Perhaps it was the idea that fifty was looming. I don't know, but I felt off. Out of sync with myself.

I note that I've lived longer in the past now, than I can expect to live in the future. I have more to remember than I have to look forward to. Memory fades, not much of the past stays, and I wouldn't mind forgetting more of it.

He was in his fifties. He'd wasted his entire life. Such people were very dear to those of us who'd wasted only a few years.

It wasn't that she expected to be known by all the bank's employees; it was just that she had been lovely once, and had never really believed that time would make her faceless.

His elbows cracked loudly when he straightened his arms, and something hitched and snapped in his right shoulder when he moved it the wrong way; a general stiffness of his frame worked itself out by halves through most mornings, and he labored like an engine through the afternoons, but he was well past thirty-five years, closer now to forty, and he really wasn't much good in the woods anymore.

I note that I've lived longer in the past, now, than I can expect to live in the future. I have more to remember than I have to look forward to. Memory fades, not much of the past stays, and I wouldn't mind forgetting a lot more of it.

We were supposed to grow old together, Dolores. Have kids. Take walks under old trees. I wanted to watch the lines etch themselves into your flesh and know when each and every one of them appeared. Die together.