About being in your thirties

Thirty was so strange for me. I’ve really had to come to terms with the fact that I am now a walking and talking adult.

When you turn thirty, a whole new thing happens: you see yourself acting like your parents.

The excess of our youth are checks written against our age and they are payable with interest thirty years later.

30 is the new 20, unless you’re 20, then it’s the new 40.

Thirty – the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning briefcase of enthusiasm, thinning hair.

The only time you really live fully is from thirty to sixty. The young are slaves to dreams; the old servants of regrets. Only the middle-aged have all their five senses in the keeping of their wits.

In my thirties, I felt I had hold of one of the reins some of the time.

A poet more than thirty years old is simply an overgrown child.

Men reach their sexual peak at eighteen. Women reach theirs at thirty-five. Do you get the feeling that God is playing a practical joke?

When you’re a teenager, all you want to do is buy beer. But once you hit 30 all you want to do is to get carded.

Time and tide wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of thirty.

After 30, a body has a mind of its own.

I think anybody over 30 plays parents because it happens in your thirties and so that’s kind of a natural progression. But I’m definitely drawn to it. It’s probably the most intense, passionate thing that happens to you as you get older.

The boy gathers materials for a temple, and then when he is thirty, concludes to build a woodshed.

I’m turning thirty this year. And you know the saying, a woman over thirty is more likely to get hit by a bomb than find a man.

Everything I know I learned after I was thirty.

At age 30, one receives strength.

A man thirty years old, I said to myself, should have his field of life all ploughed, and his planting well done; for after that it is summer time.

To my eye, women get sexier around 35. They know a thing or two, and knowledge is always alluring.

The body is at its best between the ages of thirty and thirty-five.

Thirty five is a very attractive age; London society is full of women who have of their own free choice remained thirty-five for years.

If at age 20 you are not a Communist then you have no heart. If at age 30 you are not a Capitalist then you have no brains.

Don’t trust anyone over thirty.

There are no available men in their thirties in New York. Giuliani had them removed along with the homeless.

Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart.

It is in the thirties that we want friends. In the forties we know they won’t save us any more than love did.

My time has been passed viciously and agreeably; at thirty-one so few years, months, days, hours, or minutes remain that Carpe Diem ‘is not enough. I have been obliged to crop even the seconds-for who can trust to tomorrow?

Life is islands of ecstasy in an ocean of ennui, and after the age of thirty land is seldom seen.

No one over thirty-five is worth meeting who has not something to teach us – something more than we could learn by ourselves, from a book.