“I have reached the age when the strangers I accidentally jostle on sidewalks say, ‘Sorry, Pop!’ instead of ‘Watch it, Buster!’ and the pretty young women I used to help across the perilous streets now snatch me from the path of ten-ton trucks, scold me as if I were their grandpa on one of his bad days, and hurry along with the throng, never giving me another thought. This phenomenon of maturity, this coming of frost and twilight to the autumn rose, would embitter many men, but I take it in my totter. I have learned to embrace middle age, not to wrestle with it, and I accept the considerable difference between forever panting and being constantly short of breath.”
— James Thurber in “The Girls in the Closet,” collected in Thurber Country (1953)