At fifty everyone has the face he deserves.
At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.
It’s not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us; it’s the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses.
After all, life hasn’t much to offer except youth, and I suppose for older people, the love of youth in others.
Whenever a man’s friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure that they think he is growing old.
As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.
Men who have reached and passed forty-five, have a look as if waiting for the secret of the other world, and as if they were perfectly sure of having found out the secret of this.
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