Beauty makes idiots sad and wise men merry....

No man can think clearly when his fists are clenched.

Great art is as irrational as great music. It is mad with its own loveliness.

Criticism is the windows and chandeliers of art: it illuminates the enveloping darkness in which art might otherwise rest only vaguely discernible, and perhaps altogether unseen.

Whatever you may look like, marry a man your own age - as your beauty fades, so will his eyesight.

A bad manner spoils everything, even reason and justice a good one supplies everything, gilds a No, sweetens a truth, and adds a touch of beauty to old age itself.

Our scientific age demands that we provide definitions, measurements, and statistics in order to be taken seriously. Yet most of the important things in life cannot be precisely defined or measured. Can we define or measure love, beauty, friendship, or decency, for example?

I'm very accepting with my age. It's like notches on your belt: experience, wisdom, and a different kind of beauty. There comes a day when you've become comfortable in your skin.

As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do.

Men of age object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too soon, and seldom drive business home to the full period, but content themselves with a mediocrity of success.

Men are like wine - some turn to vinegar, but the best improve with age.

I suppose when they reach a certain age some men are afraid to grow up. It seems the older the men get, the younger their new wives get.

A comfortable old age is the reward of a well-spent youth. Instead of its bringing sad and melancholy prospects of decay, it would give us hopes of eternal youth in a better world.

It is sad to grow old but nice to ripen.

What makes old age so sad is not that our joys but our hopes cease.

Few women, I fear, have had such reason as I have to think the long sad years of youth were worth living for the sake of middle age.