Today is my friend’s birthday and I just received this in response to my birthday wishes:
Thanks! I’m a youthful 32.
“…but [Ritschl] was a man whom I am happy to have known at all, and happiest to have known in his best years, for, in 1852, he was forty-six years old, an age which is, for a philologian, the flush of youth.”
-Basil Gildersleeve, “Friedrich Ritschl,” American Journal of
Philology Vol. 5, No. 3 (1884): 341.
Happy birthday to my other friend, also a professor, though not a philologist, who has not yet responded!
I recently was told by a professor in my department that “your prime will begin when you turn forty.”
Of course, no man is any richer than any other. We each get 24 hours in the day, to spend how we will: to make today our prime by acting motivated by love, or to endure another day of slavery, with our eyes fixed on the earth and our bellies.
Thanks, dear reader, should you ever find me, for making today your prime. And spending a little bit of it with me…