Quotes About Youth

I was seventeen, very old, embarrassingly young

Death to the young is more than that undiscovered country; despite its inevitability, it is a place having reality only in song or in other people's grief.

We carry accumulation of years in our bodies and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are still innocent and shy as magnolias.

I reasoned that I had given up some youth for knowledge, but my gain was more valuable than the loss.

I was young, yes, unmarried, yes - but I was a mother, and that placed me nearer to the people.

I am convinced that most people do not grow up [...] I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulation of years in our bodies and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are still innocent and shy as magnolias. We may act sophisticated and worldly but I believe we feel safest when we go inside ourselves and find home, a place where we belong and maybe the only place we really do.

El talento de los niños para resistir se debe a su ignorancia de otras posibilidades.

If you know that youth is dying on the run and my daughter trades dope stories with your son we'd better see what all our fearing and our jeering and our crying and our lying brought about. Take Time Out.

The "boys"? Those cement faces and eyes of hate that burned the clothes off you if they happened to see you lounging on the main street downtown on Saturday. Boys? It seemed that youth had never happened to them. Boys? No, rather men who were covered with graves' dust and age without beauty or learning. The ugliness and rottenness of old abominations.

Oh my Jesus, she breathed. Evangeline, what do you do with all these wonderful young men? Evangeline choked and Drake squeezed her hand beneath the table, his features working up and down as he tried to suppress his laughter over Evangeline's mortification. Maddox smirked while Silas's lips turned up into a slow grin. Not nearly enough, Maddox said morosely.

However, because they have no actual interests of their own (or if they do, they squelch them in order to fit in) and merely pursue those that they think will look best on their college apps, they're zombies.

You know in sixth grade, when they made all of us girls go into this other room and watch a video about getting our periods and stuff? I bet while we were gone, the boys were watching a video about how to look at each other in that infuriating way.

What did that mean? Where could it go? He was a death diety. I was a high school senior.

I'm a liar. And I can't stop thinking about boys.

Lana says J.P. makes Matt Damon from the Bourne movies look like Oliver from Hannah Montana

It was only when they'd rounded the corner toward the Penguin that we finally sat up, Laughing semi-hysterically. Oh my God, did you see her face? Becca asked between guffaws. 'There's something in my hair!' That was fantastic, Crazytop, Jason said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Best master plan yet.

Looks fade,' Mom would go on. 'But intelligence lasts forever.

That's the problem with your generation, Amelia. You all want happy endings." I was so stunned I think my eye stopped twitching momentarily. "We don't, actually," I said. "We want endings that leave us with a sense of hope, possibly because the world we're living in seems to be falling apart right now.

I might look like a honey-eyed schoolgirl on the outside, in my skirt with its regulation four-inches-above-the-knee hem. But I'll rip those tassels off your shoes, old man. Just try Googling me.

Back in middle school, Catherine and I had gone through this stage where all we would read were fantasy books. We'd consume them like M&M's, by the fistful, J.R.R. Tolkien and Terry Brooks and Susan Cooper and Lloyd Alexander. Susan Boone looked, to me, like the queen of the elves (there's almost always an elf queen in fantasy books). I mean, she was shorter than me and had on a strange lineny outfit in pale blues and greens....

It's kind of depressing, if you think about it. I mean, me being so young, and yet so cynical and suspicious.

Michael and I are an anomaly. Hardly anyone stays together forever with their first significant other, except maybe in YA novels. And usually when they do, it's because he's a vampire or a werewolf or owns a beautiful estate called Pemberley or something.

Not like this vision before us, who was shaking water out of his slightly overlong reddish-brown hair as he leaned over to lay down his board (revealing, as he did so, the fact that beneath his baggy swim trunks—so weighted down with water that they had sunk somewhat dangerously low on his hips—lurked what appeared to be an exceptionally well-formed gluteus maximus)

Jesse, who had not stirred the whole time from the spot he'd been standing, confident I could handle Cheryl myself, was grinning. It's every girl's dream to guy to go to prom with the guy she loves? he echoed, not just one, but both inky black eyebrows raised. Don't start with me, I said. I tried to hide my suddenly flaming cheeks by scraping away what was left of the cannolis, and replacing them with the contents of an upended bag of chocolate chip cookies. I have things to do.