Quotes About Youth

With my own pupils now I always try to remember the value of encouragement. Sometimes a callow youth appears who may be a fool or may be a genius and I would rather be guilty of encouraging a fool than of discouraging a genius.

To tell the truth, girls are no longer the way they used to be. They play gangsters, nowadays, just like boys. They organize rackets. They plan holdups and practice karate. They will rape defenseless adolescents. They wear pants... Life has become impossible.

For some reason, leatherbound copies of the goings-on in Congress lined the shelves of our living room, and I pored over them when I was 12. I had never read anything so funny," Alda said. "From then on, I knew I wanted to do comedy.

Anesthetized by youth, I missed it.

The idea of celibate vampires is ridiculous. To me, vampires are sex. I don't get a vampire story about abstinence. I don't care about high school students. I find them irritating and uninformed.

Lester starts unbuttoning Angela's blouse. She seems disconnected from what's happened. Lester pulls her blouse open, exposing her breasts.

At sixteen, Angela is strikingly beautiful; with perfect even features, blonde hair and a nubile young body, she's the archetypal American dream girl.

One of the hardest things for boys to learn is that a teacher is human. One of the hardest things for a teacher to learn is not to try and tell them.

She thought for a moment, then said, "When we are young, we think life will be like a su po: one fabric, one weave, one grand design. But in truth, life turns out to be more like the patchwork cloths--bits and pieces, odds and ends--people, places, things we never expected, never wanted, perhaps. There is harmony in this, too, and beauty. I suppose that is why I like the chogak po.

When we are young, we think life will be like a supo: one fabric, one weave, one grand design. But in truth, life turns out to be more like the patchwork cloths-bits and pieces, odds and ends-people, places, things we never expected, never wanted, perhaps.

The old men send the young to die in war, But if the roles were reversed, what then the score?

SHORE-LARK During the week, the shore-lark works in the City and flies home every night with its mate in Wimbledon, where it is a model husband and father. At weekends, however, it migrates briefly on Brighton, on any of one hundred pretexts, where is meets female shore-larks under the pier and seeks to recapture its lost youth.

She was nearly twenty, with dark hair, darker eyes, and a hint of something deeper within. There was a freshness about her that the surrounding harsh landscape had failed to eliminate. Anyone glancing at her would have thought her soft: a serious error of judgment.

Luftmenschen were also eternal students, lost souls, young people who spent their lives arguing politics in cafés and drifting through the student communities of Europe— gifted, bright, but never truly finding themselves.

Little Mariano was at home, getting fat

A girl from the Bund Deutscher Mädel, the girls' version of the Hitler Youth, came and collected him.

Hideki had always been the smallest boy in the school, and Yoshio had never let him forget it. Hideki was fourteen years old but looked like he was twelve, with a round boyish face, thin arms and legs, and short-cropped black hair.

Nick felt a tear rise to his eye at the thought of the child's utter innocence of hangovers.

And going into the showers I saw a suntanned young lad in pale blue trunks that I rather liked the look of.

He was asking for memories, too young himself to know that memories were only memories of memories.

When I was in high school, I don't know that I really had big dreams.

Time scoots along pretty fast when you grow up.

Bertie looked up from the comic he was reading. "It's OK," he said. "I can look after myself." It would be great not having a babysitter. Suzy was sleeping over at Bella's so he would have the house all to himself.

Epitaph. Not next year, not the next one, Not the year after that. But ages From here, Clad in love stained sleeping bags, Dying with feet wrapped in endless Shirts and pillow cases, Crumbling with 99 flakes clutched Between thumb and palm, dripping Yellow cream from twig fingers, Basking our white haired chests on Green grassed parks under purple Skies. Laughing over coffee after Bath tubs of coffee have passed Through our guts. Huddled, lonely, Under heaped clothes, here lay us...