'Glamour is beyond beauty and beyond age. It's like sex appeal.' - Carolina Herrera, 'I've just had eighteen straight whiskeys. I think that's the record.' - Dylan Thomas, 'Let us never know what old age is. Let us know the happiness time brings not count the years' - Ausonius, 'The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age - which means never losing your enthusiasm.' - Aldous Huxley, Help the aged One time they were just like you Drinking smoking cigs and sniffing glue, I hope I'm old before I die I hope I live to relive the days gone by But tonight I'm gonna live for today So come along for the ride I hope I'm old before I die, I'm in the autumn of the year And now I think of my life as vintage wine From fine old kegs From the brim to the dregs And it poured sweet and clear, So make up your gods And take them in It's the end And it's all right, Will you still?
‘Age is not something to accept in a fatalistic despond; no, ‘tis something to inspect from all angles, to admire and to be curious about. Do not limp woefully, vanity bawling and baulking into that varicose night, go furious with incredulous joy at your very survival. Mindful of both cruel and kind contortions mid-flight, go foolish, shunning the moribund with fervour; go shamelessly not aimlessly, loving as you did aged sixteen blamelessly, wild as wet bees dancing, filthy, funny, charming and chancing, eleemosynary and beloved by receivers all, resentment to be banished from this boisterous climactic ball and all whilst of the very finest fettle (arthritis aside, elbowing feeble knees — none to say undid by crip hip were he, she, one and ye), still to be putting on the kettle, wisely brewed and bedecked with pride, spinning all that’s dark into glorious gold. Therefore, do not rage, rage, against the dyeing of grey hair. No. Get your Croydon facelift on, take heed this tropospheric speak; do not bemoan one’s being “old”, endless elation and amity do seek!’
— The Cloud