Count up man's calamities and who would seem happy? But in truth, calamity leaves fully half of your life untouched.—Charles Buxton.
Age.—Wrinkles are the tomb of love.—Sarros in.
It cuts one sadly to see the grief of old people; they've no way o' working it off; and the new spring brings no new shoots out on the withered tree.—George Eliot.
Autumnal green.—Dryden.
Ye old men, brief is the space of life allotted to you; pass it as pleasantly as ye can, not grieving from morning till eve. Since time knows not how to preserve our hopes, but, attentive to its own concerns, flies away.—Euripides.
The Grecian ladies counted their age from their marriage, not their birth.—Homer.
The vices of old age have the stiffness of it too; and as it is the unfittest time to learn in, so the unfitness of it to unlearn will be found much greater.—South.
Old men's eyes are like old men's memories; they are strongest for things a long way off.—George Eliot.
Serene, and safe from passion's stormy rage, how calm they glide into the port of age!—Shenstone.
Providence gives us notice by sensible declensions, that we may disengage from the world by degrees.—Jeremy Collier.