Like everyone else who makes the mistake of getting older, I begin each day with coffee and obituaries.

Forty is the old age of youth fifty the youth of old age.

Every man over forty is a scoundrel.

Bashfulness is an ornament to youth, but a reproach to old age.

Alas, after a certain age every man is responsible for his face.

Age appears to be best in four things old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read.

Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.

How incessant and great are the ills with which a prolonged old age is replete.

As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do.

I don't believe one grows older. I think that what happens early on in life is that at a certain age one stands still and stagnates.