Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Quotes

The years as they pass plunder us of one thing after another.

Time slips away and leaves you with nothing, mister, but boring stories of glory days.

I'm 65 years old. Everyday the future looks a little bit darker. But the past, even the grimy parts of it, well, it just keeps on getting brighter all the time.

My sense of loneliness was not particularly great until I reached sixty. From that time on, I would have given an ex-king's ransom if I had been able, in my youth to seduce a lady into thinking of me as a handyman and provider around the house.

It can make you sad to look at pictures from your youth. So there's a trick to it. The trick is not to look at the later pictures.

The older you get, the more you find yourself looking for things you used to see and liked when you were younger.

I'm afraid that the passage of time is mostly lost on me. If you were to open up my head you would see that I'm still brooding about statements, songs and issues from the third grade. The years between 1980 and today went by very, very quickly.

The notion of time bothers me. You look at thirty-year-old photographs and realize how the time has passed.

Going home is not necessarily a wonderful experience. It always comes with a sense of loss and makes you so conscious of the inexorable passage of time.

For me, personally, there is one really interesting thing. You're all a bit too young for that, but when you get to a certain level of experience, accumulation of experience you start slowly to once in a while get a whiff of the feeling, I'd love to be twenty years younger but with what I know and have experienced at this point.

The older you get, the more you live with ghosts.

Probably no one alive hasn't at one time or another brooded over the possibility of going back to an earlier, ideal age in his existence and living a different kind of life.

It becomes increasingly easy, as you get older, to drown in nostalgia.

Sign of old age: distress at all leave-takings, all separations. And the sadness of memories, because I'm aware they're condemned to death.

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

Who that has plodded on to middle age would take back upon his shoulders ten of the vanished years, with their mingled pleasures and pains? Who would return to the youth he is forever pretending to regret?

If only Jupiter would restore me those bygone years.

At eighty-two, I feel like a twenty-year-old, but, unfortunately, there's never one around.

Since we're not young, weeks have to do time for years of missing each other.Yet only this odd warp in time tells me we're not young.

The problem with time, I've learned, whether it's those first two weeks I got to spend with you, or the final two months I got to spend with him, eventually time always runs out. I have no idea where you are out there in the world, John. But I understand that I lost the right to know these things long ago. No matter how many years go by, I know one thing to be as true as ever was - I'll see you soon then.

Every man who has lived for fifty years has buried a whole world or even two; he has grown used to its disappearance and accustomed to the new scenery of another act: but suddenly the names and faces of a time long dead appear more and more often on his way, calling up series of shades and pictures kept somewhere, "just in case," in the endless catacombs of the memory, making him smile or sigh, and sometimes almost weep.

The years go by. The time, it does fly. Every single second is a moment in time that passes. And it seems like nothing - but when you're looking back ... well, it amounts to everything.

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels. Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields.

Seal my lips on aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.