There is no friend like an old friend who has shared our morning

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., physician, poet, and sage of the American spirit, once wrote: “There is no friend like an old friend who has shared our morning days, no greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise.” In this tender reflection, Holmes captures the sacredness of old friendship — that rare and precious bond formed in the dawn of life, when the heart is still unguarded and the soul, unscarred by time, opens itself freely. He speaks of the friend who has walked beside us through the early light of our youth, when our laughter was loud and our dreams unbroken. For such a one, no later companionship can truly compare. The years may pass, faces may change, but the old friend, bound to us by the roots of shared beginnings, holds a part of our soul that time can neither take nor replace.

The origin of this saying rests in Holmes’s lifelong meditation on memory and affection. Living in the 19th century — an age when the world was changing with dizzying speed — Holmes often wrote about the enduring power of human bonds amidst the transience of life. He was not only a poet of intellect but of heart, cherishing the simple warmth of enduring friendship as one of life’s truest consolations. In his line, we hear the wisdom of one who has seen many seasons come and go — who knows that fame, fortune, and even love may fade, but friendship that has endured from youth glows with a light that never dims.

To understand the depth of his words, we must reflect upon what it means to share one’s “morning days.” The morning of life is that sacred time of first discoveries — when one’s spirit is unshaken by cynicism, when joy and pain are both fresh, and every experience burns with innocence and intensity. The friend who walks beside us then does more than share our laughter; they become part of our becoming. Their memory is woven into the fabric of our soul. When we meet them again after many years, it is as if the dawn itself returns — we are reminded of who we were, and perhaps, of who we truly are beneath the dust of years.

Consider the ancient story of Achilles and Patroclus, two warriors of Greece whose bond was as deep as brotherhood. They shared not only the glory of battle but the innocence of boyhood; their friendship was born in the “morning days” of youth. When Patroclus fell in war, Achilles’s grief was so consuming that it shook even the gods. For he had lost not merely a companion, but the reflection of his own soul — the one who knew him before fame, before fury, before the weight of destiny. Their story, carved in Homer’s immortal verse, reveals what Holmes meant: that there is no friend like an old friend, for he alone remembers the melody of our beginnings.

The old friend’s greeting, Holmes says, is like no other. It carries the warmth of a thousand memories, the unspoken language of shared years. There is no pretense between such souls, no need for introductions or explanations. When an old friend’s hand meets yours, time falls away. You stand again in the morning light — young, hopeful, alive. Even their praise, he writes, carries a unique power. For flattery from strangers flatters the ego, but praise from an old friend touches the heart. It comes from one who has known your failures and your triumphs, your follies and your faith, and loves you still. Their words are not mere compliment, but homage — a tribute to the journey you have walked together.

Yet Holmes’s wisdom also bears a quiet sorrow. Such friendships are few, and time is a thief. Many drift apart through distance, silence, or the restless tide of life. Thus, his words are also a call to remembrance — to honor and preserve those rare bonds that have survived the passing years. For in the noise and haste of the world, it is easy to forget the ones who knew us when our dreams were unshaped, our hearts unguarded. To lose such friendship is to lose a piece of oneself.

So, my children of memory and meaning, let this truth be written upon your hearts: cherish your old friends. Reach out to them before the seasons pass you by. Write to the one who once walked with you beneath the same sun. Call the friend whose laughter you still remember from another lifetime. For no treasure is richer than the shared memories of youth, and no comfort warmer than the hand of one who has known you from the beginning.

And when you meet that friend again, after many years apart, do not mourn what has changed — rejoice in what has endured. For the friendship that survives the turning of time is proof of life’s truest grace. As Oliver Wendell Holmes reminds us, the world offers many joys, but few equal to this: to stand once more beside an old friend, and feel, if only for a moment, that you are once again standing in the light of your morning days.