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Aging Quotes

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Aging Quotes

“One of the seats of emotion and memory in the brain is the amygdala, he explained. When something threatens your life, this area seems to kick into overdrive, recording every last detail of the experience. The more detailed the memory, the longer the moment seems to last. "This explains why we think that time speeds up when we grow older," Eagleman said--why childhood summers seem to go on forever, while old age slips by while we’re dozing. The more familiar the world becomes, the less information your brain writes down, and the more quickly time seems to pass.”

“It was difficult to imagine that a full day hadn't yet passed since we boarded the airliner in New York. I paused. Medieval man believed that one was placed beyond the touch of time, and therefore aging, while attending Mass. What, I wondered, would he have made of those hours we left up in the sky? I would not change my watch until I gave the matter more thought.”

“Segalanya telah terlambat dan ia tetap bukan milik siapa-siapa. Alat-alat kosmetik yang paling muthakir dan makanan yang paling bergizipun tidak lagi banyak dapat membantunya. Pada waktu itulah Nuning baru menyadari sepenuhnya bahwa segalanya hanyalah sementara, termasuk kecantikan yang dimilikinya. Kesementaraan itulah yang melemparkan manusia ke puncak atau membenamkannya ke dasar yang paling dalam. Kesementaraan itulah yang membuat manusia saling berkejaran dengan waktu. Ketinggalan mungkin akan mempertemukan manusia pada kehancuran, di samping akan menghadapkannya pada berbagai alternatif yang lebih mengerikan.”

“We could visit whenever we wanted, Ashiya and Okayama were practically next door, and there were no diesel fumes on the Shinkansen. Though we had parted repeating those assurances over and over, in the thirty years since, Mina and I have seen each other only a handful of times. It's not that we’ve grown apart or lost track of each other, but simply that time has slipped away much more quickly than we could have imagined when we were young.”

“Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.”

“Whenever I hear people clucking about the decline of civilization, what's wrong with young people, how vulgar popular culture is, how confusing and frightening they find the internet, alarms go off. I know I'm around somebody whose hinges are rusting. Death will be bad enough, but for me, this early harbinger is more fearsome, because a part of one's spirit and openness and ability to learn and grow disappears.”

“The young delude themselves that the music will never stop playing. So it makes sense for them to explore rather than savor; to meet new people rather than to devote time to their nearest and dearest; to learn new skills and soak up information, rather than to ponder the meaning of it all; to focus on the future rather than to remain in the present.”

“I used to be a poet. My words were traded in marketplaces like pieces of gold. Merchants bought my verses for as much as they paid for saffron and Indian jade. Now I am old... drunk on wine and candle fumes. Alone in this barren room, I speak my psalms to the night air so as to entertain moths before they go off to die. I used to be a poet and my words were gold.”

“Art is often seen as voluntary, an item on a list of choices you’re making, a task that can be prioritized or dispensed with, depending on available resources at the time. An item to be balanced against the exigencies of family. But. If you are an artist and you always, always put your children’s needs first, eventually your own need will make itself heard and you will wonder, What would I have made in those lost years? You will wonder, Am I too late? And you might be. Too late. You might have needed those years, when your kids were small. Just the way other works—lawyers, professors—also need those years if they are to have a career. And the way still other workers need those years if they are to make a living.”

“When you were living in the moment though, it wasn’t possible to truly understand how finite it all was. Don’t we all secretly hope that we are the exception to the rules of time? We might even be immortal. Then, one day, something happens, you see your aging reflection in the mirror, really see it, and you know you’ve been fooling yourself. You can’t go back and relive it again and remembering can be a beautiful thing, but it can also break your heart.”

“Basically, exfoliation causes the cells to send signals to produce new skin cells. It also stimulates the production of new collagen fibers, replacing the damaged, irregular, and aged collagen fibers. Exfoliation can reverse the thinning of the collagen in the dermis that occurs with aging, and it also enhances the work of treatment creams and serums. This is why I prefer evening for exfoliation.”

“Beauty is not who you are on the outside, it is the wisdom and time you gave away to save another struggling soul like you.”

“Bone is a miniature universe in which birth and death occur constantly. The basic unit is the osteon, composed of concentric loops of bone, a canal, osteocytes, vessels, and nerves. In living tissue osteons are born, nourished, and eventually replaced by newer units. When magnified and viewed under polarized light, osteons resemble tiny volcanoes, ovoid cones with central craters and flanks that spread out to flatlands of primary bone. The number of volcanoes increases with age, as does the count of abandoned calderas. By determining the density of these features one arrives at an age estimate.”

“Our body is a sacred temple A place to connect with people. As we aren't staying any younger We might as well keep it stronger.”

“We may not stay quick, If we are weak or sage, but a lot can squeak As we start to age.”

“Yes. I'm not unhappy about becoming old. I'm not unhappy about what must be. It makes me cry only when I see my friends go before me and life is emptied. I don't believe in an afterlife, but I still fully expect to see my brother again. And it's like a dream life. I am reading a biography of Samuel Palmer, which is written by a woman in England. I can't remember her name. And it's sort of how I feel now, when he was just beginning to gain his strength as a creative man and beginning to see nature. But he believed in God, you see, and in heaven, and he believed in hell. Goodness gracious, that must have made life much easier. It's harder for us nonbelievers. But, you know, there's something I'm finding out as I'm aging that I am in love with the world. And I look right now, as we speak together, out my window in my studio and I see my trees and my beautiful, beautiful maples that are hundreds of years old, they're beautiful. And you see I can see how beautiful they are. I can take time to see how beautiful they are. It is a blessing to get old. It is a blessing to find the time to do the things, to read the books, to listen to the music. You know, I don't think I'm rationalizing anything. I really don't. This is all inevitable and I have no control over it.”

“The last slide is Main Street at night, with the castle lit silver blue in the background. In the sky, fireworks are going off, cresting, cracking open the darkness, shooting long tendrils of colored light down to the buildings, way longer than I’ve ever seen for fireworks… I linger on this slide. I study that blue castle and those fireworks and realize that this is the image I’ve had in my head of Disneyland for all these years. Just like the beginning of the Wonderful World of Disney TV show. Maybe that’s why I wanted to head here this time. I know it’s ridiculous, but part of me wants to think that the world after this one could look like that. Like I said before, I stopped having notions about religion and heaven long ago—angels and harps and clouds and all that malarkey. Yet some silly, childish side of me still wants to believe in something like this. A gleaming world of energy and light, where nothing is quite the same color as it is on earth—everything bluer, greener, redder. Or maybe we just become the colors, that light spilling from the sky over the castle. Perhaps it would be somewhere we’ve already been, the place we were before we were born, so dying is simply a return. I guess is that were true then somehow we’d remember it. Maybe that’s what I’m doing with this whole trip—looking for somewhere that I remember, deep in some crevice of my soul. Who knows? Maybe Disneyland is heaven. Isn’t that the damnedest, craziest thing you’ve ever heard? Must be the dope talking. (pp.253-254)”

“We think there is *one* planet called Earth, but there are thousands, even *millions*, like a snake shedding its skin every so often, but with all the old skins still bunched around it. You live inside the creature for quite a while, so it comes as a shock to find you're living now in one of the husked-off skins, and sometimes you can touch and know about the creature as it is now and sometimes you can't.”

“Pela minha parte, sabe como é, não peço tanto à vida: as minhas filhas crescem numa casa de que cada vez menos me recordo, de móveis bebidos pelas águas de sombra do passado, as mulheres que encontrei depois abandonei-as ou abandonaram-me numa tranquila decepção mútua em que não houve sequer lugar para esse tipo de ressentimento que é como que o sinal retrospectivo de uma espécie de amor, e envelheço sem graça num andar demasiado grande grande para mim, observando à noite, da secretária vazia, as palpitações do rio, através da varanda fechada cujo vidro me devolve o reflexo de um homem imóvel, de queixo nas mãos, em que me recuso a reconhecer-me, e que teima em fitar-me numa obstinação resignada.”

“I haven’t been out driving at this time of night in many years, much less in an unfamiliar area. These are the things that scare you as you get older. You understand night all too well, all its attendant meanings. You try to avoid it, work around it, keep it from entering your house. Your weary, ornery body tells you to stay up late, sleep less, keep the lights on, don’t go into the bedroom—if you have to sleep, sleep in your chair, at the table. Everything is about avoiding the night. Because of that, I suppose that I should be scared out here in the dark, but I am finally past that, I think. (p.204)”