We grow with years more fragile in body, but morally stouter, and can throw off the chill of a bad conscience almost at once. – Logan Pearsall Smith, “Age and Death,” Afterthoughts, 1931
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past– For years fleet away with the wings of the dove– The dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love. – Lord (George Gordon) Byron
