“Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burns brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers,…”

“Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould.”

“A worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age.”

“When he is forsaken, Wither'd and shaken, What can an old man do but die?”

“Though I am young, I scorn to flit On the wings of borrowed wit.”

“The strange thing about growing old is that the intimate identification with the here and now is slowly…”