If only the old and young could be the same age.
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
I grow old… I grow old… I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
I am young now and can look upon my body and soul with pride. But it will be mangled soon, and later it will begin to disintegrate, and then I shall die, and die conclusively. How can we face such a fact, and not live in fear?
Every age must look for its sanction to its poetry and philosophy, for in these the human mind, as it looks backward or forward, attains to an eternal state.
Error is acceptable as long as we are young; but one must not drag it along into old age.
Each age, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each generation for the next succeeding.
Could it be, even for elderly people, that this was life? – startling, unexpected, unknown?
By the time you’re thirty, your worst enemy is yourself.
At about the age of six or seven, I realized that of all the invisible powers the one I was destined to be most strongly affected and dominated by was music.
All sorts of allowances are made for the illusions of youth, and none, or almost none for the disenchantment of age.
All diseases run into one, Old Age.
