When one ages, one’s face is marked with lines of life, put there by love and laughter, suffering and tears. 

It’s not how old you are, it’s how you are old.

I don’t see why there should be a point where everyone decides you’re too old. I’m not too old, and until I decide I’m too old I’ll never be too fucking old.

Youth. I don’t seek it through another because I have it within; it’s a state of mind, a spirit that is free, and a mind that is playful. The shell of my being is altered by the effects of time, but nothing will tarnish a soul that will never forget what it’s like to experience creation with endless wonder and appreciation.

When I say aloud that I’m almost sixty, it doesn’t seem real.  It seems impossible, I’m not that mature yet.