I read non-fiction but, on occasion, I'll prospect in fiction for nuggets of truth or wisdom. I found one today while reading a story in Harper's Magazine ("Slingshot," May 2018).
The narrator is a 70-year old woman who's describing her sexual affair with a 32-year old male neighbor. At one point, she says something that rings true:
I went home and was surprised to find Rose there. She asked me where I had been,
said she knew that I was spending a lot of time with that guy next door. She said,
"He's never going to love you, you know. Have you forgotten how old you are?
Look at all your wrinkles." That's the thing about being old. We don't know
we have wrinkles until we see them. Old is a thing that happens outside. A thing
other people see about us.