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As we grow old, the beauty steals inward.

Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.

What could be more beautiful than a dear old lady growing wise with age? Every age can be enchanting, provided you live within it.

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.

Beauty and the devil are the same thing.

And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.

At sixty, I know little more about wisdom than I did at thirty, but I know a great deal more about folly.

Beauty is ever to the lonely mind a shadow fleeting; she is never plain. She is a visitor who leaves behind the gift of grief, the souvenir of pain.