old (n.)
old (v.)
old (adv.)
old (adj.)
- abandoned
- adult
- advanced
- age-old
- aged
- ageless
- ancient
- antediluvian
- antiquated
- antique
- archaic
- auld
- big
- blase
- bygone
- constant
- continuing
- cosmopolitan
- dated
- dateless
- demode
- deserted
- discontinued
- disused
- early
- elderly
- enduring
- erstwhile
- established
- experienced
- firm
- fore
- former
- gray
- gray-haired
- gray-headed
- grown
- hoar
- hoary
- immemorial
- inveterate
- knowing
- late
- lifelong
- long-lived
- marriageable
- mature
- matured
- nubile
- obsolescent
- obsolete
- old-fashioned
- old-time
- olden
- onetime
- out
- out-of-date
- outdated
- outmoded
- overage
- passe
- past
- patriarchal
- perennial
- perpetual
- practical
- practiced
- prehistoric
- previous
- primeval
- primitive
- prior
- quondam
- recent
- relinquished
- retired
- ripe
- ripened
- sagacious
- seasoned
- skilled
- solid
- sometime
- sophisticated
- steady
- superannuated
- then
- timeless
- timeworn
- traditional
- tried
- venerable
- versed
- vet
- veteran
- white
- white-haired
- worldly
- worldly-wise
- worn-out
- wrinkled
- wrinkly
Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
For the glory of the Creator and the relief of man's estate.
Youth is a blunder; manhood a struggle; old age a regret.
A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free.
See how the world its veterans rewards!
A youth of frolics, an old age of cards.
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.
My way of life
Is fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but in their stead
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold,
Alike fantastic if too new or old:
Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
Our youth we can have but to-day,
We may always find time to grow old.
There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old.
Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit,
The power of beauty I remember yet.
Alonso of Aragon was wont to say in commendation of age, that age appears to be best in four things,—old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read.
From old Belerium to the northern main.
But all thing which that shineth as the gold
Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told.
Flowers are lovely; love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
Oh the joys that came down shower-like,
Of friendship, love, and liberty,
Ere I was old!
For out of the old fieldes, as men saithe,
Cometh al this new corne fro yere to yere;
And out of old bookes, in good faithe,
Cometh al this new science that men lere.
Old friends are best. King James used to call for his old shoes; they were easiest for his feet.
I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine.
Old wood to burn! Old wine to drink! Old friends to trust! Old
authors to read!—Alonso of Aragon was wont to say in commendation of
age, that age appeared to be best in these four things.—
Old Grimes is dead, that good old man
We never shall see more;
He used to wear a long black coat
All buttoned down before.
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears.
From reveries so airy, from the toil
Of dropping buckets into empty wells,
And growing old in drawing nothing up.
I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.
Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mould.
I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine.
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
With many a stiff thwack, many a bang,
Hard crab-tree and old iron rang.
"A jolly place," said he, "in times of old!
But something ails it now: the spot is cursed."
My merry, merry, merry roundelay
Concludes with Cupid's curse:
They that do change old love for new,
Pray gods, they change for worse!
A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they say, When the age is in the wit is out.
When he is forsaken,
Wither'd and shaken,
What can an old man do but die?
That old man eloquent.
Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.
It is better to be
An old man's derling than a yong man's werling.
For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,
And makes his pulses fly,
To catch the thrill of a happy voice
And the light of a pleasant eye.
I love everything that's old,—old friends, old times, old manners, old
books, old wine.—
Young men think old men are fools; but old men know young men are fools.
Your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions.
The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme,
The young men's vision, and the old men's dream!
My days among the dead are passed;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.
I envy them, those monks of old;
Their books they read, and their beads they told.
Nick Machiavel had ne'er a trick,
Though he gave his name to our Old Nick.
Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die,
But leave us still our old nobility.
An unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised;
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ,
And seem a saint when most I play the devil.
Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burns brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweetheart, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.
'T is an old tale and often told;
But did my fate and wish agree,
Ne'er had been read, in story old,
Of maiden true betray'd for gold,
That loved, or was avenged, like me.
Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament; adversity is the blessing of the New.
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old.
For still the new transcends the old
In signs and tokens manifold;
Slaves rise up men; the olive waves,
With roots deep set in battle graves!
Alonso of Aragon was wont to say in commendation of age, that age appears to be best in four things,—old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read.
Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burns brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweetheart, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.
Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:
I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have:
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burns brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweetheart, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.
Old wood to burn! Old wine to drink! Old friends to trust! Old
authors to read!—Alonso of Aragon was wont to say in commendation of
age, that age appeared to be best in these four things.—
Old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good.
So for a good old-gentlemanly vice
I think I must take up with avarice.
