Old age doth in sharp pains abound; We are belabored by the gout, Our blindness is a dark profound, Our deafness each one laughs about. Then reason's light with falling ray Doth but a trembling flicker cast. Honor to age,… — Anonymous Copy Share Image
“...the memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment, and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years.” — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
