Is it not sad to grow old?
Say rather that it is a difficult art, and one which few men have ever acquired. . . . To grow old is sad indeed if what you want is to hold back the receding years, to keep your hair from growing white, your eyes from becoming dim, and the wrinkles from chiseling their way across your brow. One of the most beautiful things in the world is an old person who, made better by experience, more indulgent, more charitable, loves mankind in spite of its wretchedness and adores youth without the slightest tendency to mimic it.
Such a person is like an old Stradivarius whose tone has becomes so sweet that its value is increased a hundred-fold, and it seems almost to be a soul.
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