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The value of old age depends upon the person who reaches it. To some men of early performance it is useless. To others, who are late to develop, it just enables them to finish the job.

Thomas Hardy

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Thomas Hardy
Age: 87 †
Born: 1840
Born: June 2
Died: 1928
Died: January 28
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Dorchester
Dorset
Person
Late
Finish
Men
Value
Aging
Time
Age
Useless
Values
Performance
Upon
Performances
Jobs
Develop
Others
Early
Reaches
Persons
Depends
Enables

More quotes by Thomas Hardy

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There is always an inertia to be overcome in striking out a new line of conduct – not more in ourselves, it seems, than in circumscribing events, which appear as if leagued together to allow no novelties in the way of amelioration.
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If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.
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you are absolutely the most ethereal, least sensual woman I ever knew to exist without inhuman sexlessness.
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A strong woman who recklessly throws away her strength, she is worse than a weak woman who has never had any strength to throw away.
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The sudden disappointment of a hope leaves a scar which the ultimate fulfillment of that hope never entirely removes.
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If an offense come out of the truth, better is it that the offense come than that the truth be concealed.
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Where we are would be Paradise to me, if you would only make it so.
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Do not do an immoral thing for moral reasons.
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Always wanting another man than your own.
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Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die.
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War makes rattling good history.
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To have lost is less disturbing than to wonder if we may possibly have won and Eustacia could now, like other people at such a stage, take a standing-point outside herself, observe herself as a disinterested spectator, and think what a sport for Heaven this woman Eustacia was.
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The sky was clear - remarkably clear - and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.
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A lover without indiscretion is no lover at all.
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Is a woman a thinking unit at all, or a fraction always wanting its integer?
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That cold accretion called the world, so terrible in the mass, is so non formidable, even pitiable, in its units.
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That one true heart was left behind! What feeling do we ever find, to equal among human kind , a dog's fidelity!
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Dialect words are those terrible marks of the beast to the truly genteel.
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So do flux and reflux--the rhythm of change--alternate and persist in everything under the sky.
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A novel is an impression, not an argument and there the matter must rest.
Thomas Hardy