Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.
When I behold the heavens as in their prime, And then the earth (though old) still clad in green, The stones and trees, insensible of time, Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen
Time did not compose her.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the wars of elements, The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds.
There's something about all the films that I have made in that they don't seem old or dated, and some people mention that.
Age could not wither nor custom stale her infinite monotony: in fact, neither Age nor Custom could do anything (as they said, their voices rising) with the American novelist Gertrude Johnson.
She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, And slumber out their immortality.
