Count no matron happy until she hath passed thirty, and hath not waxed fat.
To take the world as one finds it
The old say, "I remember when." The young say, "What's the news?"
The temptation to vivify the tale and make it walk abroad on its own legs is hard to deny.
Imagination is like a lofty building reared to meet the sky; whereas fancy is a balloon that soars at the wind's will.
When the waitress puts the dinner on the table, the old men look at the dinner. The young men look at the waitress.