Quotes About Youth

I was about to drop a light one on his forehead when he reached up, grabbed me around the neck and pulled me down. Then he planted a big, wet smackeroo right in the middle of my face. "Sweet dreams, Pete!

I shoved back my chair and raced around the table, ready to destroy him. "Grandma . . ." Fudge cried. "Heeelp . . . !

I really like you, Margaret. How do you want me to kiss you?

I love the way people always think they know somebody your age until you tell them how old you really are! "I'm going on twelve," I said. "Gretchen is almost twelve too," the doctor said. Well! He was right about my age.

She said, "I must—I must—I must increase my bust." She said it over and over. We copied her movements and chanted with her. "We must—we must—we must increase our bust!

forever. Fifteen years ago she'd woven ribbons through

Caitlin was fascinated by Vix's pubic hairs. "Lay down," she said, "and I'll count them for you.

helmet." "A helmet?" I ask. "Yes.

Kliner. I touched my special place practically every night. It was the only way I could fall asleep and besides, it felt good.

It's all about remembering, it's all about being fifteen and in love for the first time.

PART ONE Dancing Queen 1977–1980

Yet," Fudge said. Then he took off again, laughing like a lunatic.

The next day, when I got up, Fudge's bed was empty. He doesn't know you're supposed to sleep late when

I look in the mirror through the eyes of the child that was me.

Like many young men in the South, he had trouble ruling out the possible. They are not like an immigrant's son in Passaic who desires to become a dentist and that is that. Southerners have trouble ruling out the possible. What happens to a... man to whom all things seem possible and every course of action open? Nothing of course.

Foe him, The Doors is the story of a young man who wants to break all the limits of life

I led the life of an intellectual up until a certain age. I remember Freud's 'Interpretation of Dreams' was a big favorite when I was 11. It sounded so interesting. And it really was!

In my early 20s, I studied history and politics, and I really thought that perhaps I would devote my life to that.

I've lived in this city all my life. I grew up on the Upper East Side. And when I was ten years old, I was rich, I was an aristocrat. Riding around in taxis, surrounded by comfort, and all I thought about was art and music. Now, I'm 36, and all I think about is money.

What ever happened to the passion we all had to improve ourselves, live up to our potential, leave a mark on the world? Our hottest arguments were always about how we could contribute. We did not care about the rewards. We were young and earnest.

In a way, it is beautiful to be young and hard up. With the right wife, and I had her, deprivation became a game.

Leave a mark on the world. Instead, the world has left marks on us. We got older. Life chastened us so that now we lie waiting to die, or walk on canes, or sit on porches where once the young juices flowed strongly, and feel old and inept and confused.

When we're young, we take so casually every sacrifice offered by the old.

The air is so crisp it gives me a brief, delusive sense of health and youth. Those I don't have, but I have learned not to scorn the substitutes: quiet, plenty of time, and a job to spend it on.