Ageing Quotes (page 36)
Mr Cobb would acquaint him, that when he was his age, his father thought no more of giving him a parental kick, or a box on the ears, or a cuff on the head, or some little admonition of that sort, than he did of any other ordinary duty of life; and he would further remark, with looks of great significance, that but for this judicious bringing up, he might have never been the man he was at that present speaking; which was probable enough, as he was, beyond all question, the dullest dog of the...
Charles Dickens
song of elli (old age)"What is plucked will grow again, What is slain lives on, What is stolen will remain. What is gone is gone... What is sea-born dies on land, Soft is trod upon. What is given burns the hand -What is gone is gone... Here is there, and high is low; All may be undone. What is true, no two men know -What is gone is gone... Who has choices need not choose. We must, who have none. We can love but what we lose -What is gone is gone.
Peter S. Beagle
The Hindu religion is the only one of the world’s great faiths dedicated to the idea that the Cosmos itself undergoes an immense, indeed an infinite, number of deaths and rebirths.
It is the only religion in which the time scales correspond to those of modern scientific cosmology. Its cycles run from our ordinary day and night to a day and night of Brahma, 8.64 billion years long. Longer than the age of the Earth or the Sun and about half the time since the Big Bang.
Carl Sagan
Tessio Zizmo had been a virgin when she married Milton Stephanides at the age of 22. Their engagement, which coincided with the Second World War, had been a chaste affair. My mother was proud of the way she'd managed to simultaneously kindle and snuff my father's flame, keeping him at a low burn for the duration of a global cataclysm.... She didn't surrender until after Japan had.
Jeffrey Eugenides
He had never looked forward to the wisdom and other vaunted benefits of old age. Would he be able to die young—and if possible free of all pain? A graceful death—as a richly patterned kimono, thrown carelessly across a polished table, slides unobtrusively down into the darkness of the floor beneath. A death marked by elegance.
Yukio Mishima