Terry Pratchett Quotes

There is always some specific moment when we become aware that our youth is gone; but, years after, we know it was much later.

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

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

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

When our memories outweigh our dreams, it is then that we become old.

To grow old is to grow remorseful.

We can't get our youth back.

When I'm 60, maybe, I'll look at my pile of papers and wonder, What really happened that year?

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

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

I'm aging, and the world is seeing it.

When the playing is over, one can sense that one's youth has been spent playing a game, and now both the game and youth are gone.

One of the things you realize about gettin older is that not everybody is goin to get older with you.

Adulthood it a glacier encroaching quietly on youth. When it arrives, the stamp of childhood suddenly freezes, capturing us for good in the image of our last act, the pose we struck when the ice of age set in.

Inside every seventy-year-old is a thirty-five-year-old asking, 'What happened?

How confusing the beams from memory's lamp are; One day a bachelor, the next a grampa. What is the secret of the trick? How did I get so old so quick?

But it all zipped by. One minute Marlena and I were up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college. And now, here I am. In my nineties and alone.

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.

These wrinkles are nothing These gray hairs are nothing, This stomach which sags with old food, these bruised and swollen ankles, my darkening brain, they are nothing. I am the same boy my mother used to kiss.

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

I'm getting old, that's the thing! What's in me now won't be there anymore.

We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near.