elderly

The glory of the elderly is their insight to life.

It never ceased to amaze me how she just had the facts always, in her head. It occured to me that if, or when, she died, a whole load of facts, a body of knowledge, might disappear without a trace.

If an elderly but distinguished scientist says that something is possible, he is almost certainly right; but if he says that it is impossible, he is very probably wrong.

Even eighty-odd is sometimes vulnerable to vanity.

Words were few and failing between them as though the silence that sat with them had laid its old lips on theirs and sucked them dry of speech. For where could one begin? With the weather? But here there was no weather. These few sad rooms were the old man's world. His horizons were all walls.

PATCHES' OF AUTHORITYPreteens Adhere, Teens Challenge, Hideout, Elderly ShunKamil Ali

When the dust settles, you will have known that it was always about ageing well, not just about how fit and strong you were when young... Step back, have a look and never lose sight of the bigger picture!

I've had an amazing life. One filled with blessings I could never have imagined.Depressed is the last thing I am. Realistic, yes. Sad, never.

I'm on the Internet. I stay informed. They let old people on the Internet, you know.

In winter the very ground seemed to reach up and grab the elderly, yanking them to earth as though hungry for them.

These wrinkles are the hands of time,The journeys I__e been onThey__e seen me through a thousand days,And ev__y victory wonThese fragile hands, With exposed bones,Are not a fearful sightBut rather, they, my faithful partners,Rocked babies through the nightThese eyes are weak, They see much less,Than yours they__e seen much moreThey__e guided me through birth, through death,Through grief, through hurt, through warThese ears can hear so very little,Yet they__e learned to listen muchThey perk up not for gossip now,But for a heart to touchThose younger often look my way,With pity looks to giveYet this old body doesn__ mean I am dying,But rather, that I have lived

The problem with aging is not that it's one damn thing after another__t's every damn thing, all at once, all the time.

There was something alike terrifying and piteous in the spectacle of these frail old morsels of humanity consecrating their last flickering energies to the task of making each other wretched. Hatred seemed to be the one faculty which had survived in undiminished vigor where all else was dropping into ordered and symmetrical decay.

As an unavoidable result of the inevitable loss of some physical and/or some mental abilities, many a man who has been alive for many years has become a boy again.

Loneliness tortures many if not most of the elderly more intensely and more frequently than it torments many if not most of us who will never be or have not yet been pushed or pulled into old age.

The glory of the age is beauty of grayhair.

That__ quite the specific search...'Sadistic Old-Bag-Murdering Witches'__ can__ even begin to imagine what that involves.

Gray hair is the glory of a long life.