Youth is not a period of life. It’s a state of the spirit, it’s the product of a will. A quality of the imagination and an emotional intensity, it’s the victory of courage over shyness, of adventure over comfort. One doesn’t grow older for having lived a number of years. One gets older for having deserted an ideal. Years will wrinkle the skin, but giving up an ideal will wrinkle the soul. Worries, doubts, fears and lack of hope are enemies that slowly make us lean towards the ground and we become dust before our death. Young is the one who astounds and is fascinated. The one who asks like an insatiable child: “what’s next?” The one that defies circumstances and finds joy in the game of life. One is as young as one’s faith. And as old as one’s doubts. As young as one’s self-trust. As one’s hope. And as old as one’s dejection. One remains young as long as one’s receptive. Receptive to all that is beautiful and all that is big. Receptive to the messages of nature, of man and of the infinite. If sometime your heart is bitten by pessimism, or gnawed by cynicism, may God have mercy upon your old soul.
Marc Aurel (cit.)