— How old are you?
— Seventeen.
— How long have you been seventeen?
— A while…
Similar Quote:
Eighteen might look at thirty-four through a rising mist of adolescence; but twenty-two would see thirty-eight with discerning clarity.
We live with all our sorrows tied to age and separation.
I was no longer a young man, though but twenty-one winters had chilled my bodily frame.
At fifty everyone has the face he deserves.
— You're not the man I knew ten years ago.
— It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage.
— She's a goddamn liar! Some nutcase seeking money or publicity. Like that Russian babe, Anesthesia. Rose Dewitt Bukater died on the Titanic when she was seventeen, right?
— That's right.
— If she had lived, she'd be over one hundred by now.
— One hundred and one newxt month.
— Okay, so she's a very old goddamn liar.