Quotes About Aging

Old age is not an illness, it is a timeless ascent. As power diminishes, we grow toward the light.

Ideas either age like fine wine or rot like potatoes over time.

The older a wizard grows, the more silent he becomes, like a woody vine growing over time to choke a garden path, deep and full of moss and snakes, running everywhere, impenetrable.

I don't ever want to get old. Spare me that. Have you the power? No, even you don't have the power, alas.

A Poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was it for this I uttered prayers, And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, That now, domestic as a plate, I should retire at half-past eight?

I pray-for fashion's word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.

I told my wife a man is like wine, he gets better with age. She locked me in the cellar.

People who don't cherish their elderly have forgotten whence they came and whither they go.

Isolation and loneliness create the conditions for rapid aging. The key is to stay connected and open to new relationships throughout your life.

To put it coldly, my friends, all the ones who should have died years ago, would have died years ago without beta-blockers, stents, angioplasties, pacemakers, exotic medications, well, now they're dying all at once." John

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

The ripest fruit first falls.

Spite of cormorant devouring Time.

The inaudible and noiseless foot of time.

And so, from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,And thereby hangs a tale.

Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly?

And when he's old, cashier'd.

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,Wherein he puts alms for oblivion.

Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;For now hath time made me his numbering clock:My thoughts are minutes.

I have liv'd long enough: my way of lifeIs fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf;And that which should accompany old age,As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,I must not look to have; but, in their stead,Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath,Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.

There's no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by nature.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by-and-by black night doth take away...

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field.