If the infinity of the sea may call out thus, perhaps when a man is growing old, calls come to him, too, from another infinity still darker and more deeply mysterious; and the more he is wearied by life the dearer are those calls to him.

Whenever a man's friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure that they think he is growing old.

A man growing old becomes a child again.

No one longs to live more than someone growing old.

Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional.

... a gaggle of old ladies is glued to the window at the end of the hall like children or jailbirds. They're spidery and frail, their hair as fine as mist. Most of them are a good decade younger than me, and this astounds me. Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it.----
There are five of them now, white headed old things huddled together and pointing crooked fingers at the glass.