The Old Are In A Second Childhood.

I Would Treat Her Like An Egg, The Shell Of Which We Remove Before Eating It; I Would Take Off Her Mask And Then Kiss Her Pretty Face.

Weak Mortals, Chained To The Earth, Creatures Of Clay As Frail As The Foliage Of The Woods, You Unfortunate Race, Whose Life Is But Darkness, As Unreal As A Shadow, The Illusion Of A Dream.

You Will Never Make The Crab Walk Straight.

Old Age Is But A Second Childhood.

Hunger Knows No Friend But Its Feeder.