One Never Knows When One Is Old

From Birth To Death We Are Alone.

It's Not Till Sex Has Died Out Between A Man And A Woman That They Can Really Love. And Now I Mean Affection. Now I Mean To Be Fond Of (as One Is Fond Of Oneself) -to Hope, To Be Disappointed, To Live Inside The Other Heart. When I Look Back On The Pain Of Sex, The Love Like A Wild Fox So Ready To Bite, The Antagonism That Sits Like A Twin Beside Love, And Contrast It With Affection, So Deeply Unrepeatable, Of Two People Who Have Lived A Life Together (and Of Whom One Must Die) It's The Affection I Find Richer. It's That I Would Have Again. Not All Those Doubtful Rainbow Colors.

Marriage. The Beginning And The End Are Wonderful. But The Middle Part Is Hell.

But I Had Been In Love Pretty Often And I Didn't Think It Stood The Wear And Tear.

One Never Knows When One Is Old For Certain.