Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Oh, would that my mind could let fall its dead ideas, as the tree does its withered leaves! And without too many regrets, if possible! Those from which the sap has withdrawn. But, good Lord, what beautiful colors!

It is, I assume, quite easy to wither into old age, and hard to grow into it.

What does long life avail? The best seats at the funerals of friends.

No one's so old that he mayn't with decency hope for one more day.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

What Time hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit.

When the age is in, the wit is out.

Growing old is not a gradual decline, but a series of drops, full of sorrow, from one ledge to another below it.

The denunciation of the young is a necessary part of the hygiene of older people, and greatly assists the circulation of the blood.