One of the main secrets to staying young is staying healthy. I've

In the elegant yet sharp words of Joan Collins, we find a truth that glimmers like gold refined by fire: “One of the main secrets to staying young is staying healthy. I’ve sometimes had to suppress a smile when some young lady, who has obviously not taken care of herself through diet or exercise, says admiringly, ‘Ooh, I hope I look as good as you do when I’m your age!’ Although it’s intended to be complimentary, it’s actually a back-hander.” Beneath the wit of her tone lies a profound wisdom, forged through experience and self-discipline. She reminds us that beauty, vitality, and youth are not accidents of birth nor gifts of chance—they are the fruits of care, consistency, and respect for one’s own body and spirit.

To speak of youth is not to speak merely of smooth skin or bright eyes, but of the energy of life itself—the inner fire that glows within those who honor themselves through mindful living. Collins, with her grace and candor, exposes the illusion of effortless beauty that the modern world worships. The young woman she describes, who admires without understanding, mirrors a truth of all generations: that many desire the reward but neglect the labor. They marvel at the flower but forget the years of tending that allowed it to bloom. Collins’s gentle smile hides the discipline behind her endurance—the countless moments of saying no to indulgence, yes to balance, yes to health, yes to the quiet rituals that preserve the vitality of youth long after the years have passed.

The ancients, too, understood this principle. In Greece, where the ideal of the body and mind in harmony was worshiped, philosophers and athletes alike practiced moderation as a sacred art. Hippocrates, father of medicine, declared that health is not the absence of illness, but the state of balance—between food, rest, movement, and thought. The Spartans maintained their vigor through relentless training and disciplined living, understanding that youthfulness was not a matter of years but of mastery over the self. So too, Joan Collins reminds us that youth is earned, not preserved by hope or vanity. It is the harvest of a lifetime of small, wise choices.

Her reflection also reveals a subtle commentary on perception and effort. The compliment “I hope I look as good as you when I’m your age” is, as she says, a back-handed one—because it assumes that the present neglect can be redeemed later by luck or miracle. But nature does not bend to flattery. It rewards those who align themselves with its rhythms. The ancients called this arete—the pursuit of excellence in every act, great or small. To live with arete is to see one’s body as a temple, not an afterthought; to live in a way that honors tomorrow through the choices of today. Collins’s humor, then, hides a moral edge: that admiration without action is empty, and that the beauty we envy in others often stands upon unseen pillars of effort.

Consider the tale of Cleopatra, last queen of Egypt, who is remembered for her timeless allure and intellect. Though legend paints her beauty as effortless, in truth, she cultivated it with devotion—bathing in milk to nourish the skin, studying herbs, fasting when needed, and balancing her pleasures with ritual care. Her beauty was not a gift of gods, but a craft she practiced as faithfully as a scholar studies the stars. Like Cleopatra, Joan Collins reveals that maintenance of the self—body, mind, and soul—is an art, one that demands reverence and discipline. For it is not enough to wish to be radiant; one must live radiantly.

The wisdom in Collins’s words also speaks to the deeper notion of respect for the vessel of life. To neglect the body while hoping to retain its strength is to insult the gift of existence itself. The ancient Stoics, who sought serenity through virtue, taught that the body must be neither idolized nor ignored, but cared for as one tends a loyal steed—fed, exercised, and treated with gratitude. For it carries the soul through every endeavor, every love, every battle. Collins’s reminder is thus not about vanity, but about honor—the honor one gives to the divine architecture of the self by keeping it strong, nourished, and alive.

Let this be the teaching, then, drawn from Joan Collins’s wit and wisdom: youth is not a number, but a discipline. It is the reflection of harmony between body and spirit, born from years of mindful care. Do not envy those who age gracefully; learn from them. Eat with awareness, move with purpose, rest with respect for your limits, and cultivate joy like a garden that never stops growing. For when you do, you will find that time itself becomes your ally, not your enemy.

And so, when the years advance, and the mirror reveals the passage of days, you will not long for what has been lost, but rejoice in what endures—vitality, dignity, and the quiet glow of wisdom hard-won. In the end, the secret that Collins reveals is no secret at all: to stay young, stay awake to your life. Care for it as a sacred flame, and it will light your path long after youth has faded from the skin but taken root in the soul.