Retirement is the ugliest word in the language.
Retirement at sixty-five is ridiculous. When I was sixty-five I still had pimples.
O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.