Old age is the harbor of all ills.

Age all things wasts.

That disease
Of which all old men sicken,—avarice.

Nature abhors the old, and old age seems the only disease; all others run into this one.

There is no age more dangerous than old age.

Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.

My belief is that every man after fifty-five is always ill more or less.

The real affliction of old age is remorse.

I define aging as the set of accumulated side effects from metabolism that eventually kills us.

Old age is not a battle. Old age is a massacre.

As I give thought to the matter, I find four causes for the apparent misery of old age; first it withdraws us from active accomplishments; second, it renders the body less powerful; third, it deprives us of almost all forms of enjoyment; fourth, it stands not far from death.

Old age isn't a battle; old age is a massacre.

Aging is a catastrophe of the body which our cowardice turns into a catastrophe of the soul.

Old age diminishes our strength; it takes away our pleasures one after the other; it withers the soul as well as the body; it renders adventure and friendship difficult; and finally it is shadowed by thoughts of death.