Age puzzles me. I thought it was a quiet time. My seventies were interesting and fairly serene, but my eighties are passionate. I grow more intense as I age.
It is not easy to be sure that being yourself is worth the trouble, but we do know it is our sacred duty.
My kitchen linoleum is so black and shiny that I waltz while I wait for the kettle to boil. This pleasure is for the old who live alone.
Life does not accommodate you; it shatters you. Every seed destroys its container, or else there would be no fruition.
No matter how old a mother is, she watches her middle-aged children for signs of improvement.
