Old age has its pleasures, which, though different, are not less than the pleasures of youth.

Growing old is no more than a bad habit which a busy man has no time to form.

Old age is always wakeful; as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has to do with aught that looks like death.

Wiser in relish, if sedate, Come graybeards to their roses late.

Here's a song was never sung: Growing old is dying young.

Tis well for old age that it is always accompanied with want of perception, ignorance, and a facility of being deceived. For should we see how we are used and would not acquiesce, what would become of us?

Age imprints more wrinkles in the mind than it does on the face.

Senescence begins And middle age ends The day your descendents Out-number your friends.

The old men know when an old man dies.

Age's terms of peace, after the long interlude of war with life, have still to be concluded-Youth must keep decently away-so many old wounds may have to be unbound, and old scars pointed to with pride, to prove to ourselves we have been brave and noble.