But some tell their days by the flow of their tears And their lives by the moans of their hearts. Every man over forty is a scoundrel. When men reach their sixties and retire they go to pieces. Women just go right on cooking. And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years.
We grow old by deserting out ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Like our shadows, Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines. We have a saying in the movement that we don't trust anybody over thirty.