With the years, the skin becomes wrinkled, but the renunciation of enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Sorrow, doubt, lack of self-confidence, anxiety and hopelessness are like long years that drag the head down to earth and bend the upright spirit into the dust. Whether seventy or seventeen, within the heart of every person lives the longing for the wonderful, the uplifting amazement at the sight of the eternal stars.
Within every heart lives a fearless venture, the insatiable child-like tension of what the next day will bring. Within lives the frolicsome joy and gaiety, the joy of life. You are as young as your confidence, as old as your doubt, as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear, as young as your hopes, as old as your despondency. As long as the messages of beauty, joy, boldness, the greatness of men and of infinity reach your heart, you are young. Only when the wings hang down and the snow of pessimism and the ice of cynicism cover the inside of the heart have you become truly old.
