This day I enter on my eighty-sixth year. I now find I grow old: 1) my sight is decayed so that I cannot read a small print, unless in a strong light; 2) my strength is decayed so that I walk much slower than I did some years since; 3) my memory of names, whether of persons or places, is decayed till I stop a little to recollect them. What I should be afraid of is if I took thought for the morrow, that my body should weigh down my mind and create either stubbornness, by the decrease of my understanding; or peevishness, by the increase of bodily infirmities; but Thou shalt answer for me, O Lord my God.
The Journal of John Wesley
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