"A few of us old fellows get together now and then, like regular birds of a feather. Most of us sit and cry about the good old days, yearning for the pleasures of youth and reminiscing about the joys of sex and parties and drinking and all that. They fret as though they'd been deprived of something important, saying that then they lived well and now they're not even living. Some complain that their families abuse them, and make that an excuse to bewail old age, as though age were the cause of all of their miseries. ...Now it seems to me that these people put the blame in the wrong place, Socrates. If age were the cause, it would have the same effect on me and everyone else who's old. But I've met old people who aren't like that."