Beautiful young people are accidents of nature. Beautiful old peope are works of art. — Marjorie Barston Greenbie

How sad that the sweetness, innocence and character of youth is sometimes lost in the immaturity of adulthood. — Ray Cross

All signs point to the fact that the aging person can best protect his brain by seeking challenges and participation in the world.

The best way to protect your brain is to use it.

Nostagia is like a grammar lesson: you find the present tense and the past perfect.

Birthdays are good; the more you have the longer you live.

Growing old is not bad when you consider the alternative.

Joke quote

An older gentleman went to his doctor complaining of problems of pain and immobility in one of his legs. Ater checking him out the doctor stated that he felt it was just evidence of old age “Can’t be!” said the patient. “Why?” asked the Doc. “Well the other leg works fine and it’s the same age.”

Too many birthdays will kill you.

The differece between ‘he’s good looking’ and ‘he’s looking good’ is about 20 years and 40 pounds.

Don’t worry about growing old. Be thankful; some people are denied that privilege.

Don’t worry about getting older. When you stop getting older you’re dead.

When grace is joined with wrinkles it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age. — Victor Hugo

The peak years of mental health must be between the ages of 4 and 18. At 4 we have all the questions; at 18 we know all the answers.

Middle age: When it takes longer to rest than to get tired.

Old and wise are not the same. Though this is what we’re often told. It takes real living to grow wise…Just keep on breathing to grow old. — Anna Jean Watson

By the time you’ve learned how to make the most of life, most of it is over. — Ray Cross

Remember when growing up meant getting all your questions answered instead of getting all your answers questioned?

You’re growing older when…

Everything hurts and what doesn’t hurt, doesn’t work.

You feel like the night before and you haven’t been anywhere.

Your mind makes promises your body can’t keep.

You know the answers, but have forgotten the questions.

You sit in a rocking chair and can’t get it going.

Your back goes out more than you do.

You get your exercise acting as a pallbearer for your friends who exercise.

The best part of your day’s over when your alarm goes off.

Middle age is when your legs may buckle but your belt doesn’t.

Old age is having too much room in the house and not enough in the medicine cabinet.

The young and the old have all the answers. Those in between are stuck with the questions.

The difficult age has come and lit. I’m too tired to work but too poor to quit.

To stay youthful, stay useful.

If you’re worrying about growing older, realize some people never have the privilege.

Old and wise are not the same,

Though this is what we’re told.

It takes real living to grow wise…

Just keep on breathing to grow old. — Anna Watson

One pressing need today is for less publicity on how to stay young and more on how to grow up.

You can’t help getting older, but you don’t have to get old. — George Burns

If I had known that I was going to live so long I would have taken better care of myself. — George Burns

To make a success of old age, start young.

Old age is a failure disease. — David J. Schwartz

Youth is a liability only when the youth thinks it is. — David J. Schwartz

A defensive policy is militarily bad. It is always a sign that a power has reached it peak and commenced to decline. — Blaiklock

A recent study indicated where North American teens turn to in their troubles: #1. music, #2. peers, #3. television,…#4. mom,…#5. dad.

Tis only happiness can keep us young. — Maga

Attitude, more than age, determines energy.

The young yearn to be older. The old wish they were young.. It seems to me that youth has the advantage since it will one day be old but the old can never again be young. Live youth while you have it because it disappears too fast. – Ray Cross

Adolescence is a period of rapid changes. Between the ages of 12 and 17, for example, a teen may see his parent age 20 years.

Treat teenagers like adults but don’t expect them to act that way. — R. Lowell Davee

Capacity for believing lies more in the child than in the man. We grow less rather than more capable of faith; every year finds the unregenerate mind farther from God and makes it less capable of receiving the things of God. — Spurgeon

Judge: “Mrs. Perman, why did you hit Mr. Ellsworth?”
Mrs. Perman: “Because he said my stockings were all wrinkled.”
Judge: “That’s no reason to hit him.”
Mrs. Perman: “At the time, I wasn’t wearing stockings.”

Remember now thy Creator 

Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;
While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain:
In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,
And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the sound of the bird, and all the daughters of music shall be brought low;
Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets:
Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.
Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.
–Ecclesiastes 12: 1-7


The years with soft precision
Move on in time and space
And they who meet them gladly
Find age endowed with grace.

The years with gentle pressure
Erase our fret and woe,
And they who meet them bravely
Sing with the afterglow.

The years are but the measure
Of God’s evolving plan,
And they who use them truly
Reveal the God in man.


Father help me to accept the lessening of my powers with realism and good humor.
Keep me from self-pity, and remind me that age has not taken away my mission in life, but only altered it.
Grant me a taste for the hidden beauties of creation, a continuing interest in Your world–and mine
Make me more patient with myself, more tolerant of the foibles of others, more outgoing with the timid and shy.
Deepen my faith in Your unfailing truth, strengthen my hope that I will share in the joy of Your Son’s resurrection, expand my love in Your Holy Spirit for all men–with home I am destined to share the fellowship of the blessed for all eternity. Amen.


General Douglas MacArthur, on his seventy-fifth birthday, made this thought-packed observation of age:
“Youth is not entirely a time of life; it is a state of mind. It is not wholly a matter of ripe cheeks, red lips, or supple knees. It is a temper of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions…nobody grows old by merely living a number of years. People grow old only be deserting their ideals.
You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair.
In the central place of every heart there is a recording chamber. So long as its receives a message of beauty, hope, cheer, and courage–so long are you young. When the wires are all down and your heart is covered with the snow of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then, and only ten, are you grown old.”


God keep my heart attuned
to laughter
When youth is done;
When all the days are gray,
coming after
The warmth, the sun.
God keep me then, from
bitterness; from grieving,
When life seems cold;
God keep me always loving
and believing,
As I grow old.
–Author unknown


Let me but live my life from year to year
With forward face and unreluctant soul,
Not hastening to, nor turning from, the goal;
Not mourning for the things that disappear
In the dim past, nor holding back in fear
From what the future veils; but with a whole
And happy heart that pays its toll
To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer;
So let the way wind up the hill or down,
Through rough or smooth, the journey will by joy.
Still seeking what I sought when but a boy–
New friendship, high adventure, and a crown.
I shall grow old, but never lose life’s zest.
Because the road’s last turn will be the best.
–Henry Van Dyke


We cannot avoid growing old, but we can avoid growing cold.
–R. H. Stoll


The sunny side of seventy! I’ve reached it long ago,
And now I’m nearing eighty, with hair as white as snow,
Eyes dim, joints still, back feeble–I seem in evil case;
To sing of sunny seventy seems somewhat out of place
But is it? Pause and ponder what the good Book as said
Of righteousness, and glory crowning the hoary heard.
Think of the rock and quicksands which I have safely passed
By the Good Shepherd’s guidance through many a roaring blast.
Now I am near the borders of the bright shining land
Where blessed saints are waiting for me to join their band–
For me–all believers cleansed in that marv’lous flood
Which frees from all defilement–e’en Christ’s atoning blood.
Does not that counterbalance the weakness of my frame?
Oh, how the thought of glory has set my heart on flame!
What though this mortal body, poor tenement of clay,
‘Neath death’s dominion falling, should perish and decay?
What matters? All is brightness, for thus proclaims the Word–
Absent from this poor body, then present with the Lord.
How glorious are my prospects–Lo! to faith’s piercing view
Lie realms of brightest glory, scenes ever fair and new,
Where Christ in hearvenly glory, the Lamb of God divine,
God’s Son, His well-beloved, doth reign: and Christ is mine.
–Hector Maiben


You tell me I am getting old;
I tell you that’s not so!
The “house” I live in is worn out–
And that, of course, I know.
It’s been in use a long, long while,
It’s weathered many a gale;
I’m really not surprised you think
It’s getting somewhat frail.

The color’s changing on the roof,
The windows getting dim,
The walls a bit transparent,
And looking rather thin.
The foundation’s not so steady
As once it used to be;
My “house” is getting shaky,
But my “house” isn’t me!

My few short years can’t make me old–
I feel I’m in my youth;
Eternity lies just ahead,
A life of joy and truth.
I’m going to live forever, there;
Life will go on–it’s grand!
You tell me I am getting old?
You just don’t understand!

The dweller in my little “house”
Is young and bright and gay–
Just starting on a life to last
Throughout eternal day.
You only see the outside,
Which is all that most folks see.
You tell me I am getting old?
You’ve mixed my “house” with me!
–Dora Johnson (88 years young)


“I’m Fine–How are You?”

There’s nothing whatever the matter with me,
I’m just as healthy as I can be.
I have arthritis in both my knees,
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze
My pulse is weak, my blood is thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in,
All my teeth have had to come out,
And my diet I hate to think about,
I’m overweight and I can’t get thin.
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.
And arch supports I need for my feet,
Or I wouldn’t be able to to go out on the street,
Sleep is denied me night after night.
But every morning I find I’m all right.
My memory’s failing, my head’s in a spin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.
Old age is golden–I’ve heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, as I go to bed,
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cupl,
And my eyes on a shelf, until I get up,
And when sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?
The reason I know my youth has been spent,
Is, my Get-up and Go, has got-up-and-went!
But I really don’t mind, when I think, with a grin,
Of all the places my Get-up has been.
I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Pick up the paper a read the ”obits”,|
If my name is missing, I’m therefore not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and jump back into bed.
The moral of this, as this tale doth unfold,
Is that for you and me, who are growing old,
It is better to say “I’m fine” with a grin,
Than to let people know the shape we are in.
-Author unknown


How Lovely Growing Old
Let me grow lovely growing old–
So many fine things do;
Laces and ivory, and gold,
And silks need not be new;
And there is healing in old trees;
Old streets a glamour hold;
Why may not I, as well as these
Grow lovely, growing old?
–Orval B. Burton


Not Growing Old

They say that I am growing old;
I’ve heard them tell it times untold,
In language plain and bold;
But I’m not growing old.

This frail old shell in which I dwell
Is growing old, I know quite well;
But I am not the shell.

What if my hair is turning gray?
“Gray hairs are honorable,” they say.
What if my eyesight’s growing dim?
I still can see to follow Him
Who sacrificed His life for me
Upon the cross of Calvary.

My hearing may not be as keen
As in the past if may have been;
Still I can hear by Saviours say,
In whispers soft, “This is the way.”

Why should I care if old Time’s plow
Has left its furrows on my brow?
Another house not made with had
Awaits me in the glory land.

What though I falter in my walk?
What though my tongue refuse to talk?
I still can tread the narrow way;
I still can watch, and praise, and pray.

The outward man, do what I can,
To lengthen out this life’s short span,
Shall perish and return to dust,
As everything in nature must.

The inward man, the Scriptures say,
Is growing stronger day by day;
Then how can I be growing old,
When safe within my Saviour’s fold?
–John E. Roberts


God, keep my heat attuned to laughter
When youth is done;
When all the days are gray days,
Coming after the warmth of the sun.

Keep me from bitterness,
From grieving, when life seems cold;
God, keep me always loving and believing,
As I grow old.


I saw you fall but a moment ago,
Dear leaf of crimson hue;
The summer is past, and the bosom of earth
Was waiting to welcome you.
The branch bade you go,
Where you tarried so long,
Where birds built a nest,
Where they sang their sweet song.
As gently would I, when summer is done,
Go at last to eternal rest;
I am told that God’s heart is yearning for me,
That there’s room on his welcoming breast.
So why should I fear when a frost shall touch
The stem that must set me free?
I shall go, please God, with a sweeter peace
Than the leaf that fell from the tree.
–William M. Runyan


Every Year
The truer life draws nigher
Every year.
And its morning star climbs higher
Every year.
Earth’s hold on us grows slighter,
And the heavy burden lighter,
And the dawn immortal brighter
Every year.
–Albert G. Pike


I hail once more my natal day,
Still in my tenement of clay
With every favour blest;
And He who placed the structure here
Can prop it up another year
If He should think it best.

Long has it stood through snows and rains
And braved life’s fearful hurricanes
While many a stranger fell;
The reason why I cannot see,
And what to us seems mystery
The Builder knows full well.

But now it’s weather worn and old;
The summer’s heat, the winter’s old
Pierce through the walls and roof;
‘Tis like a garment so worn out–
To mend there seems no whereabout.
But now it’s weather worn and old,
So gone is warp and woof.

Its tottering pillars now are weak;
The poor old rusty hinges creak;
Its windows too are dim;
But let defects, discomforts pass,
For, looking darkly through the glass,
I catch a hopeful gleam.

Nature and Scripture tell us all
This withered frame at last must fall,
Though when or how’s unknown;
I leave that to the Architect,
And trust His wisdom to direct
The taking of it down.

But when you see it prostrate lie,
Let not sad tears bedim your eye;
The tenant is not here;
For just beyond time’s little space
She finds with Christ a resting place,
No more to date her year.

And when she walks with you no more
The world will more just as before,
Let each his house in order set
That he may leave without regret
Whenever called to go.
–(A Christian lady of 94)


If the autumn of life is half as lovely
As the autumn of earth, I shall not grieve
For the vanished days of a rapturous spring
Nor beg for one moment of reprieve.

I have loved the snows of hawthorn and plum
That rivalled the frost-flakes’ mystic designs,
But what of a world in crimson and gold
With wild grapes spilling their purple wines?

And if winter shall come? I am content
To leave my life in the hands of a God
Whose mind could conceive the autumn of earth
And star it with asters and goldenrod.
–Marion Doyle

What makes an autumn tree a glory to behold? It has known the biting frost. So do some people, in the autumn years, wear a beauty of character made glorious by the rigors of life.


They call me old–they see my whitened hair.
My wrinkled face; my toiling up the stair
With painful pace; my deeply furrowed brow.
My shoulders stooped; my thin hands, withered now,
Trembling and drooped.

But could they see my heart and peer within,
They’d find a youthful part, for nothing thin
And wrinkled, earthly born,
Would they see there, but one a young as morn
And far more fair.

What does it matter, then, that I am gray;
That this frail frame has been seized by decay?
Though silver is my hair, sweet flowers of gold
Are blooming everywhere: my heart’s not old!

And so this tenement of crumbling clay
Is but a hut I rent for one short day.
Love’s wondrous house in peace awaits now for me,
With joys that shall increase eternally!


Those that be planted in the House of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bring forth fruit in old age.   —  Ps. 92:13-14


“Dear Lord” I told Him candidly,
“I’ve done my feeble best
My Christian duty to perform,
I’ve weathered every test.

“I’ve visited the sick and old,
I’ve taught and prayed and worked;
I’ve washed and ironed and cooked and cleaned,
And rarely have I shirked.

“I’ve done my share of weeping, Lord,
I’ve stood beside my graves,
And never did I bitter grow
Toward Thee Who loves and saves.

“But now I’m getting on, dear Lord,
The spring has left my knees.
It’s time for younger hands to work.
I’d like a life of ease.

“So send no more troubles, Lord,
Please, no more times of woe,
Just rosy, happy, carefree days,
From now until I go.”

And then I thought I heard Him say,
“My child, your work’s not done,
There’s still a battle to be fought,
There’s still a race to run.

“I didn’t falter in My work,
I finished the whole task–
The cruel cross, the crown of thorns–
No mercy did I ask.”

And so I bowed my head in shame,
And said, “Dear Lord, forgive!
I’ll keep on keeping on for Thee
As long as I shall live.

“Blue skies or dark and somber ones,
I’ll sing a song of praise,
Just give me strength and courage, Lord,
To stand fast all my days.”
–Ethel Van Pelt


If wrinkles must be written upon our brow, let them not be written upon the heart. The spirit should not grow old.  — James A. Garfield


Blessed are they who understand my faltering step and palsied hand.
Blessed are they who know my ears today must strain to catch the things they say.
Blessed are they who seem to know that my eyes are dim and my wits are slow.
Blessed are they who looked away when coffee spilled at table today.
Blessed are they with cheery smile who stop to chat for a little while.
Blessed are they who never say, “You told that story twice today.”
Blessed are they who know the ways to bring back memories of yesterdays.
Blessed are they who make it known that I’m loved, respected, and not alone.
Blessed are they who know I’m at a loss to find the strength to carry the Cross.
Blessed are they who ease the days on my journey Home in loving ways.
–Esther Mary Walker


Today dear Lord, I’m 80, and there’s much I haven’t done.
I hope, dear Lord, you’ll let me live until I’m 81.
But then, if I haven’t finished all I want to do,
Would you let me stay awhile, until I’m 82?
So many places I want to go, so very much to see,
Do you think that you could manage to make it 83?
The world is changing very fast, there is so much in store,
I’d like it very much to live until I’m 84.
And if by then I’m still alive, I’d like to stay till 85!
More planes will be up in the air, so I’d really like to stick
And see what happens to the worked when I turn 86.
I know, dear Lord, it’s much to ask, (and it must be nice in Heaven)
But I’d really like to stay, until I’m 87.
I know by then I won’t be fast, and sometimes will be late,
But it would be so pleasant to be around at 88.
I will have seen so many things,  and had a wonderful time.
So, I’m sure that I’ll be willing to leave at the age of 89…Maybe.
Just one more thing I’d like to say, dear Lord, I thank you kindly.
But if it’s okay with you, I’d love to live past 90.


Be brave, dear friend! God still has use for you,
Though head no longer wears its old-time hue;
Though strength grows feeble, and though sight may dim,
Thou hast a purpose and a place with Him.

Be brave, dear friend! Nor ‘neath the willow lie,
Nor ‘neath the juniper request to die;
Let not thy courage no thy strength go down,
Perchance for thee there waits a warrior’s crown

Faint not nor fear! Thou still hast work to do,
Some noble task to finish or pursue;
Not till He calls to Heaven’s sublime abode
Darest thou think to leave the pilgrim road.

Well, noble friend, be brave, be strong, be true!
Not yet is God’s commission filled for you;
But, when shall come the end of life’s long race,
How rich the welcome then to think own place!
–J. Danson Smith


Stay young by taking inspiration from the young in spirit who remained creatively active all their lives. Goethe completed “Faust” at age 80. Titian painted masterpieces at 98. Remember–not so long ago–Toscanini conducting at 85. Justice Holmes wrote Supreme Court decisions at 90. Edison was busy in his laboratory at 84–and Benjamin Franklin helped to frame the Constitution when he was 80.
–The Roving Eye


When Longfellow was well along in years, his head as white as snow, an ardent admirer asked him one day how it was that he was able to keep so vigorous and write so beautifully. Pointing to a blossoming apple tree near by, the poet replied: “That apple tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms upon it than those it now bears. The tree grows a little new wood every year, and I suppose it is out of that new wood these blossoms come. Like the apple-tree, I try to grow a little new wood each year.


When my 80-year-old mother was congratulated on being so spry for a woman of her age, she retorted sharply, “I’ll have you know, sonny, that I’m not a woman of my age!”
— Celia R. Childs


Have you noticed how, the older you get, the less you expect from life? InSun City,FL, bumper stickers read: “Have an Acceptable Day”.


It’s only fair that the government is now protecting senior citizens against catastrophic illness. Sometimes just realizing you’re a senior sitizen is catastrophic enough.