At a certain age men began to shrink, and yet it was precisely at that age that their trousers became too short for them.
Howard JacobsonIt is like being two foreigners, trapped in a land we have come to, unable to return to our own, and having only each other to confirm the reality of the place we once lived.
Robin HobbStichwörter: old-age
I’m a nosy old woman, it’s a perk of getting old. You can be annoying and people just call you eccentric.
Lauren DaneStichwörter: old-age
There are too many steps in this castle, and it seems to me they add a few every night, just to vex me"
- Maester Cressen
Stichwörter: old-age fat lazy stairs steps
People don't love each other at our age, Marthe—they please each other, that's all. Later on, when you're old and impotent, you can love someone. At our age, you just think you do. That's all it is.
Albert CamusGetting older is no problem. You just have to live long enough.
Groucho MarxStichwörter: humour old-age life-and-living
I unwrapped my love for her like one might unwrap leftovers. Gotta eat up the old stuff first, as a cannibal might say in a retirement home.
Dark Jar Tin ZooStichwörter: humor life age love food time death relationships absurd funny old-age leftovers nonsense retirement cannibalism cannibal retirement-home
The day before the Queen's Ball, Father had a visitor--a very young girl with literary aspirations, someone Lord Lytton had recommended visit Father and sent over–and while Father was explaining to her the enjoyment he was having in writing this Drood book for serialisation, this upstart of a girl had the temerity to ask, 'But suppose you died before all the book was written?' [...] He spoke very softly in his kindest voice and said to her, 'One can only work on, you know--work while it is day.
Dan SimmonsStichwörter: age writing death work old-age charles-dickens
When the last autumn of Dickens's life was over, he continued to work through his final winter and into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades of our lives in exchange for stacks of paper with scratches and squiggles on them. And when Death calls, how many of us would trade all those pages, all that squandered lifetime-worth of painfully achieved scratches and squiggles, for just one more day, one more fully lived and experienced day? And what price would we writers pay for that one extra day spent with those we ignored while we were locked away scratching and squiggling in our arrogant years of solipsistic isolation?
Would we trade all those pages for a single hour? Or all of our books for one real minute?
Stichwörter: life age writing writers time death old-age regret charles-dickens
Everybody dies. There’s nothing you can do about it. Whether or not you eat six almonds a day. Whether or not you believe in God. (Although there’s no question a belief in God would come in handy. It would be great to think there’s a plan, and that everything happens for a reason. I don’t happen to believe that. And every time one of my friends says to me, “Everything happens for a reason,” I would like to smack her.)
Nora EphronStichwörter: death-and-dying old-age
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