One of the small consolations of old age, if you are lucky, can be at least a partial recovery of innocence.

Everything I do or say will be forgotten in a few short years. Yet how amazing and wonderful it is that somehow I still care, just simply care about whatever I do, and will probably do so until my dying moment.

How frustrating it is to be out-argued by someone you know is dead wrong but is more eloquent.

I think that an act of love is immortal; once tendered, it can never really be taken back.

The man who says that he does not deserve his wife is probably right, but not for the reasons he thinks.

For some of us life is so fantastic we can't stand it.

How unfortunate it is to be constrained by what people might say at our funeral or on our gravestone.