Best 7157 quotes in «age quotes» category

Every person has his secret; in reverie, unbeknown to others, he finds peace, freedom, sorrow and love.

Fear is the most prodigious enemy of our soul

Find answers in your weakness and surprise in your strength and always remember the golden rule every failure has HOPES

For all those who say its a Man world. Respect Women Its their World we are just guest here

For a happy life,it's best we should ignore &overlook things,people,incidents,affairs & matters.It is not necessary that we show a reaction to everything. Step back & ask yourself if the matter is really worth responding to.

From Secret Man The man of autumn, Behind its melancholy mask, Will laugh in the brown grass, Will shout from the tower’s rim.

... forty's nothing, at fifty you're in your prime, sixty's the new forty, and so on.

From 1 to 18 is the holly worst parts of your life, you are caged and you can't do anything times passes events happen different today your granpa is alive, but tomorrow probably he will die or the next month or later-later. But what can it be done for that??

From age sixteen to age twenty, a woman's body is a temple. From twenty-one to forty-five, it's an amusement park. From forty-five on, it's a terrarium.

For children, childhood is timeless. It is always the present. Everything is in the present tense. Of course, they have memories. Of course, time shifts a little for them and Christmas comes round in the end. But they don’t feel it. Today is what they feel, and when they say ‘When I grow up,’ there is always an edge of disbelief—how could they ever be other than what they are?

For many women, by the time they realize how beautiful they were, it is too late.

God isn’t finished with you when you retire! When we know Christ, we never retire from His service.

Getting older seems to but does not make us even more mortal.

Getting older is not an intellectually demanding process.

God wants us to work (whether at home or on the job), but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong to retire. The Levites (who assisted in Israel’s worship) were required to retire at fifty.

Granny Trill and Granny Wallon were traditional ancients of a kind we won’t see today, the last of that dignity of grandmothers to whom age was its own embellishment. The grandmothers of those days dressed for the part in that curious but endearing uniform which is now known to us only through music-hall. And our two old neighbours, when setting forth on errands, always prepared themselves scrupulously so. They wore high laced boots and long muslin dresses, beaded chokers and candlewick shawls, crowned by tall poke bonnets tied with trailing ribbons and smothered with inky sequins. They looked like starlings, flecked with jet, and they walked in a tinkle of darkness. Those severe and similar old bodies enthralled me when they dressed that way. When I finally became King (I used to think) I would command a parade of grandmas, and drill them, and march them up and down - rank upon rank of hobbling boots, nodding bonnets, flying shawls, and furious chewing faces. They would be gathered from all the towns and villages and brought to my palace in wagon-loads. No more than a monarch’s whim, of course, like eating cocoa or drinking jellies; but far more spectacular any day than those usual trudging guardsmen.

Great beauty and youth capture our attention, excite a deep pleasure; however, why shouldn't our souls gaze at a countenance over which the years have passed? Isn't there a story there, one unknown, full of pain or beauty, which pours its reflection into the features, a story we can read with some compassion or at least get a slight hint of its meaning? The young point toward the future; the old tell of a past.

Growing up doesn't mean that you are older than someone, it means that you are no longer an amateur.

Growing age can kill the beauty, not the style.

Growing gray hair is the glory of life.

Growth doesn’t happen because we’ve accumulated some number of years. Growth happens when we learn. We mature when we are able to triumph over yesterday’s mistakes. Whatever success we have today is because we dared to fail and learned from it.

Growth is grace.

Gret works of literature are always developed and enriched from age to age with the growth of thought.

Have a drink?" " I don't need it," said Halloway. "But someone inside me does." "Who?" The boy I once was, thought Halloway, who runs like the leaves down the sidewalk autumn nights. But he couldn't say that. So he drank, eyes shut, listening to hear if that thing inside turned over again, rustling in the deep bons that were stacked for burning but never burned.

Happy birthday to me. Twenty-four. Mid-twenties. Yay. I guess I have one year of youth left. At least I can round out twenty-four to twenty. Not so lucky with twenty-five, I’ll essentially be pushing thirty.

Have and show motivation to do and learn. That's the key for a good career. Everything else is an extrapolation of that.

He felt, and not for the first time today, that he had not made a good decision in his personal or professional life since 1989.

He hated old women. They frightened him. There was a smell about them that gave him the willies. They were fierce and they had no price. They never gave a damn about making a scene. They got what they wanted. Louie's grandmother had been a tyrant. She had got whatever she wanted by being fierce.

He had an answer to almost everything and he retired at an early age.

He had come to that moment in his age when there occurred to him, with increasing intensity, a question of such overwhelming simplicity that he had no means to face it. He found himself wondering if his life were worth the living; if it had ever been. It was a question, he suspected, that came to all men at one time or another; he wondered if it came to them with such impersonal force as it came to him. The question brought with it a sadness, but it was a general sadness which (he thought) had little to do with himself or with his particular fate; he was not even sure that the question sprang from the most immediate and obvious causes, from what his own life had become. It came, he believed, from the accretion of his years, from the density of accident and circumstance, and from what he had come to understand of them. He took a grim and ironic pleasure from the possibility that what little learning he had managed to acquire had led him to this knowledge: that in the long run all things, even the learning that let him know this, were futile and empty, and at last diminished into a nothingness they did not alter.

He had the beginning of wrinkles and the easy manner of one who has already made his mistakes.

He was one of those who are not born handsome, but develop charming features with age by continuously engaging their brains with intelligent thoughts.

He really had experienced every tiniest increment of time in the four decades since then, and yet here he was surprised to be suddenly old and crippled. Turned out the rope didn't care if you noticed every daisy on the path to the gallows.

He was asking for memories, too young himself to know that memories were only memories of memories.

He was not ill-fitted to be the head and representative of a community which owed its origin and progress, and its present state of development, not to the impulses of youth, but to the stern and tempered energies of manhood and the sombre sagacity of age; accomplishing so much, precisely because it imagined and hoped so little.

He may be old now, but he is still a hero in their eyes

He wasn't so elderly after all, I saw: probably just a few years older than I. And yet I was never able (and am still not) to think of myself as old. I talked as if I knew I was; I bemoaned my age. But it was only for comedy, or to make other people feel young.

He would do anything to avoid ageing and death...anything.

His age was indeterminate. But in cynicism and general world weariness, which is a sort of carbon dating of the personality, he was about seven thousand years old.

How am I still making stupid mistakes in my eighties? Whenever somebody says to me, "Maybe it'll come with age," I want to say, 'I wouldn't count on it.

His wife killed him. Too simple. His childhood, his mother, his father, his siblings? Even if the scars of childhood heal, you never grow out of being vulnerable. Age is no shield against trauma.

How many years went by unnoticed, unembraced?

How can you possibly reconcile the great inequities of gender – coupled with the perversions of age and the randomness of everything?

How much older can you be at your age? A half minute before that you were stepping into high school, and an unhooked brassiere was as close as you ever hoped to get to Paradise. Only a fifth of a second before that you were a small kid with a ten-week summer vacation that lasted a hundred thousand years and still ended too soon. Zip! They go rocketing by so fast.

How long you will live in your dreams? The time is now, it's better to go and follow them..

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

How old are you?" asks Plastic again. "That doesn't matter," says StingRay. "What matters is how much stuff I know. People who know a lot of stuff don't need birthdays.

How old are you, anyway?" "How old are you?" "Seventeen." I raise a brow. "Almost. I'll be seventeen in two weeks. You?" Part of me doesn't want to tell her. She'll be horrified. But part of me wants to know what she will do when she knows the truth. "How old do you think I am?" She lifts a slender shoulder. "At first I thought maybe eighteen, but now I'm thinking at least nineteen. Maybe even twenty?" "why's that?" "You seem very ... experienced." I nod. "You're close. Today's my birthday. I'm thirteen.

How sad, however, if we're given Our youth as something to betray, And what if youth in turn is driven To cheat on us, each hour, each day, If our most precious aspirations, Our freshest dreams, imaginations In fast succession have decayed, As leaves, in putrid autumn, fade. It is too much to see before one Nothing but dinners in a row, Behind the seemly crowd to go, Regarding life as mere decorum, Having no common views to share, Nor passions that one might declare.

How cross you are!’ marvelled Miss Thane. ‘I suppose when one reaches middle age it is difficult to sympathize with the follies of youth.’ Sir Tristram had walked over to the other side of the room to pick up his coat and hat, but this was too much for him, and he turned and said with undue emphasis: ‘It may interest you to know, ma’am, that I am one-and-thirty years old, and not yet in my dotage!’ ‘Why, of course not!’ said Miss Thane soothingly. ‘You have only entered upon what one may call the sober time of life. Let me help you to put on your coat!’ ‘Thank you,’ said Sir Tristram. ‘Perhaps you would also like to give me the support of your arm as far as to the door?