Quotes About Youth

One had turned gay, after all these years, having suddenly started noticing the napes of young men's necks.

time's many paradoxes. For instance: that when we are young and sensitive, we are also at our most hurtful; whereas when the blood begins to slow, when we feel less sharply, when we are more armoured and have learnt how to bear hurt, we tread more carefully.

khi ta tr? và nh?y c?m, cÅ©ng là lúc ta hay Ä'i gieo Ä'au Ä'á»›n nh?t

I don't envy the young. In my days of adolescent rage and insolence, I would ask myself: What are the old for, if not to envy the young? That seemed to me their principal and final purpose before extinction.

Back in 'my day'—though I didn't claim ownership of it at the time, still less do I now . . .

when I see pairs of young lovers, vertically entwined on street corners, or horizontally entwined on a blanket in the park, the main feeling it arouses in me is a kind of protectiveness. No, not pity: protectiveness. Not that they would want my protection. And yet—and this is curious—the more bravado they show in their behaviour, the stronger my response. I want to protect them from what the world is probably going to do to them, and from what they will probably do to one another.

Yes, she is older; yes, she knows more about the world. But in terms of—what shall I call it? the age of her spirit, perhaps—we aren't that far apart.

My parents' marriage, to my unforgiving nineteen-year-old eye, was a car crash of cliché. Though I would have to admit, as the one making the judgement, that a 'car crash of of cliché' is itself a cliché.

And perhaps I I didn't even understand the young when I was young. That could be true too.

When we are young, we invent different futures for ourselves; when we are old, we invent different pasts for others.

Which ones I was not sure, only that passion and danger, ecstasy and despair (but then more ecstasy) would be in attendance. However Ã¢â'¬Â¦ who said that thing about "the littleness of life that art exaggerates"? There was a moment in my late twenties when I admitted that my adventurousness had long since petered out. I would never do those things adolescence had dreamt about. Instead, I mowed my lawn, I took holidays, I had my life.

His life had not been wrecked. His heart, yes, his heart had been cauterised. But he had found a way to live, and continued with that life, which had brought him to here. And from here, he had a duty to see himself as he had once been. Strange how, when you are young, you owe no duty to the future; but when you are old, you owe a duty to the past. To the one thing you can't change.

They grow up so quickly, don't they?" when all you really mean is: time goes faster for me nowadays. Margaret's

They grow up so quickly, don't they?" when all you really mean is: time goes faster for me nowadays.

Physical beauty is a subject that many skirt around and almost everyone attempts to down-play thereby demonstrating some sound moral stance, but it remains one of the glories of human existence. Of course, there are many people who are attractive without being beautiful just as there are beauties who bore, and the danger of beauty in the very young is that it can make the business of life seem deceptively easy.

She was at that period of her life that almost everyone must pass through, when childhood is done with and a faux maturity, untrammeled by experience, gives one a sense that anything is possible until the arrival of real adulthood proves conclusively that it is not.

Dabei steckte mir nach meiner traurigen Jugend das altbekannte, für die späte Pubertät so typische Gefühlsgemisch aus Stolz und Verzweiflung noch tief in den Knochen, wenn man sich hochnäsig für etwas Besseres hält, aber gleichzeitig an sozialer Paranoia leidet.

She was at that period of her life that almost everyone must pass through, when childhood is done with and a faux maturity, untrammeled by experience, gives one a sense that anything is possible until the arrival of real adulthood

When boys grow into men, their boyishness is still apparent each time they abandon themselves a little. I stretch against them sometimes--lovesickness, it is the same ache as homesickness for me--and I marvel. The length of their bodies, it's where I find my house, my old street, Ashbury Park and all of its yowling--men, they walk around carrying my country, my motherland, and they don't even know. They don't have the tiniest idea.

they'd become good friends before they were old enough to understand they were supposed to be enemies...

Criminals are getting younger and dumber

The young fought sleep, she thought, but the old relished it, and at the moment, she felt absolutely ancient.

My brother wrote another refrigerator magnet poem, when he was probably nineteen or twenty: 'When the flood comes/ I will swim to a symphony/ go by boat to some picture show/ and maybe I will forget about you.' How did he know way, way back then? How is it I know only now?

Even when I was young and content and thought life would bring good things for me and mine, I didn't believe in miracles.