As winter strips the leaves from around us, so that we may see the distant regions they formerly concealed, so old age takes away our enjoyments only to enlarge the prospect of the coming eternity.

Nations and men are only the best when they are the gladdest, and deserve heaven when they enjoy it.

The look of a king is itself a deed.

Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.

Age doesn't matter, unless your cheese.

As a man grows older it is harder and harder to frighten him.

With so many thousand joys, is it not black ingratitude to call the world a place of sorrow and torment?