Grow old along with me The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made Our times are in his hand who saith, A whole I planned, Youth shows but half trust God See all, nor be afraid
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With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free. Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres. There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables of home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam. But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night; As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain, As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end, they remain.
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Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made:
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I want to grow old without facelifts. I want to have the courage to be loyal to the face I have made.
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Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.
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Grow old along with me the best is yet to be.
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People fall out of windows, trees tumble down, Summer is changed to winter, the young grow old...
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They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
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If you don't learn to laugh at troubles, you won't have anything to laugh at when you grow old.
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What is termed Sin is an essential element of progress. Without it the world would stagnate, or grow old, or become colorless. By its curiosity Sin increases the experience of the race. Through its intensified assertion of individualism it saves us from monotony of type. In its rejection of the current notions about morality, it is one with the higher ethics.
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The world of books is the most remarkable creation of man nothing else that he builds ever lasts monuments fall; nations perish; civilization grow old and die out; new races build others. But in the world of books are volumes that have seen this happen again and again and yet live on. Still young, still as fresh as the day they were written, still telling men's hearts, of the hearts of men centuries dead.
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In the career of glory one gains many things; the gout and medals, a pension and rheumatism....And also frozen feet, an arm or leg the less, a bullet lodged between two bones which the surgeon cannot extract....all of these fatigues experienced in your youth, you pay for when you grow old. Because one has suffered in years gone by, it is necessary to suffer more, which does not seem exactly fair.
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I promise to keep on living as though I expected to live forever. Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years. People grow old only by deserting their ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up interest wrinkles the soul.
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If every day is an awakening, you will never grow old. You will just keep growing.
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If wrinkles must be written upon our brows, let them not be written upon the heart. The spirit should not grow old.
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I promise to keep on living as though I expected to live forever. Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years. People grow old by deserting their ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up wrinkles the soul.
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It was one of the deadliest and heaviest feelings of my life to feel that I was no longer a boy. From that moment I began to grow old in my own esteem --and in my esteem age is not estimable.
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Where and to whom you are married I can only guess in my piecemeal fashion. I grow old on my bitterness.
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Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith,
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Social Security is a government program with a constituency made up of the old, the near old and those who hope or fear to grow old. After 215 years of trying, we have finally discovered a special interest that includes 100 percent of the population. Now we can vote ourselves rich.
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If wrinkles must be written upon your brows, let them not be written upon the heart. The spirit should not grow old.
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Those who search beyond the natural limits will retain good hearing and clear vision, their bodies will remain light and strong, and although they grow old in years they will remain able-bodied and flourishing; and those who are able-bodied can govern to
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Some men never seem to grow old. Always active in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with foggyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, are the first to find the best of what will be.
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Time is an abyss. Profound as a thousand nights... Centuries come and go... To be unable to grow old is terrible.
Death is not the worst... There are things more horrible than death. Can you imagine... Enduring centuries... experiencing each day with the same futile things.
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I want to grow old without facelifts... I want to have the courage to be loyal to the face I've made. Sometimes I think it would be easier to avoid old age, to die young, but then you'd never complete your life, would you? You'd never wholly know you.
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Those who love deeply never grow old they may die of old age, but they die young.
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Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.
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It is sad to grow old but nice to ripen.
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For believe me, in this world which is ever slipping from under our feet, it is the prerogative of friendship to grow old with one's friends.
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It was one of the deadliest and heaviest feelings of my life to feel that I was no longer a boy. From that moment I began to grow old in my own esteem-and in my esteem age is not estimable.
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