Many foxes grow gray but few grow good.
Maturity is that time when the mirrors in our mind turn to windows and instead of seeing the reflection of ourselves we see others.
Maturity is the ability to think, speak and act your feelings within the bounds of dignity. The measure of your maturity is how spiritual you become during the midst of your frustrations.
Men of age object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too soon, and seldom drive business home to the full period, but content themselves with a mediocrity of success.
Men of my age live in a state of continual desperation.
Men who have reached and passed forty-five, have a look as if waiting for the secret of the other world, and as if they were perfectly sure of having found out the secret of this.
Methuselah lived to be 969 years old . You boys and girls will see more in the next fifty years than Methuselah saw in his whole lifetime.
Middle Age is that perplexing time of life when we hear two voices calling us, one saying, ''Why not?'' and the other, ''Why bother?''
Middle age is the time when a man is always thinking that in a week or two he will feel as good as ever.
Middle age is when a guy keeps turning off lights for economical rather than romantic reasons.
Middle age is when you've met so many people that every new person you meet reminds you of someone else.
Middle age is when your age starts to show around your middle.
Middle age is youth without levity, and age without decay.
Minds ripen at very different ages.
Most people think that aging is irreversible and we know that there are mechanisms even in the human machinery that allow for the reversal of aging, through correction of diet, through anti-oxidants, through removal of toxins from the body, through exercise, through yoga and breathing techniques, and through meditation.
My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
My generation, faced as it grew with a choice between religious belief and existential despair, chose marijuana. Now we are in our Cabernet stage.
My only fear is that I may live too long. This would be a subject of dread to me.
My time has been passed viciously and agreeably; at thirty-one so few years months days hours or minutes remain that ''Carpe Diem'' is not enough. I have been obliged to crop even the seconds — for who can trust to tomorrow?
Nature is full of freaks, and now puts an old head on young shoulders, and then takes a young heart heating under fourscore winters.
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