The more the years go by, the less I know. But if you give explanations and understand everything, then nothing can happen. What helps me go forward is that I stay receptive, I feel that anything can happen.
We do not count a man's years until he has nothing else to count.
Youth is not a question of years: one is young or old from birth.
They shall not grow 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.
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away: poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene That men call age, and those who would have been Their sons, they gave their immortality.
Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!
Her years Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs; But there are forms which Time to touch forbears. And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things.
The wine of youth does not always clear with advancing years; sometimes it grows turbid.