One keeps on forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave. As one grows older, one becomes wiser and more foolish. I grow old . . . I grow old . . . We do not count a man's years until he has nothing else to count.
Old age is like an opium dream.
Nothing seems real except the unreal. Middle age is when your age starts to show around your middle. After a man passes sixty, his mischief is mainly in his head. Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms inside your head, and people in them, acting. People you know, yet can't quite name.