Staid middle age loves the hurricane passions of opera.

Middle age went by while I was mourning for my lost youth.

In passing, we should note this curious mark of our own age: the only absolute allowed is the absolute insistence that there is no absolute.

It's not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us it's the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses.

Not even old age knows how to love death.