John Milton Quotes

Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.

You're only young once and you can't turn back the hands of time.

I can't believe I'm 29. Where did the years go? Why did the years go?

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

Our youth we can have but to-day, We may always find time to grow old.

Youth passes like a dream.

Time goes too quickly. This is the advice that my mother should have given me from her hospital bed. Instead of vague, unknowable quips like "Be careful what you wish for," she should have told me time slides away on a hillside of loose shale and takes everything in its path - dreams, opportunities, hopes. And youth. It takes that fastest of all.

We tried not to age, but time had its rage.

The clock never stops, never stops, never waits. We're growing old. It's getting late.

If you're not getting older, you're dead.

I wouldn't be young again even if it were possible, but I am not going to pretend that growing old is all sweetness and light.

In your mid-20s, you think you'll go on for eternity. Then a point comes where you realise that's not going to be the case.

Heavens, Mary, of course we'll laugh again. It's just that we'll never be young again.

It's pretty scary to know how quickly time flies.

Occasionally the very youngness of the young moved him to charity--they had no sense of the swiftness of life, nor of its limits. The years would pass like weeks, and loves would pass too, or else grow sour.

By the time a man notices that he is no longer young, his youth has long since left him.

The brief span of our poor unhappy life to its final hour Is hastening on; and while we drink and call for gay wreaths, Perfumes, and young girls, old age creeps upon us, unperceived.

But, Lord Crist! whan that it remembreth me Upon my yowthe, and on my jolitee, It tickleth me aboute myn herte roote. Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote That I have had my world as in my tyme. But age, alias! that al wole envenyme, Hath me biraft my beautee and my pith. Lat go, farewel! the devel go therwith! The flour is goon, ther is namoore to telle; The bren, as I best kan, now most I selle.

You can't be a 25-year-old forever.

To see the years touch ye gives me joy", he whispered, "for it means that ye live.

Time is the rider that breaks youth.

Likewise and during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us. But a moment always comes when we have to carry it.