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Everything I own can fit in two suitcases and a foot locker.

I'd always assumed that by 40 I'd have at least a modicum of stability - a steady income, an established career, a bountiful fullness, like a pillow into which I could sink as I entered the second half of my life.

I remember when the idea of living to be 40 seemed absurd.

I was broke until I was 40. Really broke. I could get by, but I had nothing.

When you're young, you think life is forever, but it's finite. I'm 68, so even by the maddest measurements, I'm in the last bit of life.

As long as I'm not living out of a suitcase, I'm happy.

And my life for the first - you know, when I was in my 20s and 30s, I had my career, and I traveled the world, I lived out of a suitcase. I stayed up until dawn. I did all of those things that were very exciting.

I'd be happy to live till 80 as long as I was comfortable and in good health. Mind you, ask me again on the eve of my 80th birthday. Even so, I hope we don't all start living to be 120. I'm not sure I'd cope with another 60 years.

My career started young and I was really ambitious, and then I had success and I hung out with people who were much older. I think I might have been temporally misplaced, so I thought I was 40. It was a premature midlife crisis.

I'd experienced the '40s and '50s by looking at my grandparents' old clothes, books, and magazines.