Quotes About Youth

older and she always got to drive. She opened

You sowed enough wild oats before we were married to qualify for farm subsidies.

but the emergency room was a young person's game, the sort of place you ran screaming from before you hit your thirties.

You were still trying to figure out what to do with all the rage and lust and anger that sparked up like a forest fire for no reason. Will had been exactly like them at that age—so damn desperate for someone to show him how to be a man.

Kids like that didn't live the lives they wanted. They survived the lives they had.

These were the qualities that painted young me as smart and ambitious and young woman as trouble.

closer she got to forty, the more annoyed she was by people in their twenties.

these were the qualities that painted young men as smart and ambitious and young women as trouble.

Cuando tenía dieciocho años me vino el pensamiento de abandonar la Iglesia. Era para mí una exigencia de autenticidad, porque el pertenecer a la Iglesia no constituía algo indiferente, sino realmente una confesión, y una confesión tal, que fomentaba mucha necedad en el mundo, puesto que con ella existía una institución que sembraba el error. (...) Entre el destino y la voluntad / Schicksal und Wille

When I was younger I wanted to be a caricaturist. In the end, I've become a caricature.

Those professions which are not so much involved in life itself as concerned with abstract truths are the most dangerous for the young man whose principles are not yet firm and whose convictions are not yet strong and unshakeable.

Those professions which are not so much involved in life itself as concerned with abstract truths are the most dangerous for the young man whose principles are not yet firm and whose convictions are not yet strong and unshakeable. At the same time these professions may seem to be the most exalted if they have taken deep root in our hearts and if we are capable of sacrificing our lives and all endeavours for the ideas which prevail in them.

Kids are like farts in that way. They never seem to bother the owner as much as they bother everyone else.

He was a baby once, she thought. New and perfect, cradled in his mother's arms. The mysterious Sylvie. Now he was a feathery husk, ready to blow away. His eyes were half open, milky, like an old dog, and his mouth had grown beaky with the extremity of age, opening and closing, a fish out of water. Bertie could feel a continual tremor running through him, an electrical current, the faint buzz of life. Or death, perhaps. Energy was gathering around him, the air was static with it.

From the open French windows Sylvie watched Maurice erecting a makeshift tennis net, which mostly seemed to involve whacking everything in sight with a mallet. Small boys were a mystery to Sylvie. The satisfaction they gained from throwing sticks or stones for hours on end, the obsessive collection of inanimate objects, the brutal destruction of the fragile world around them, all seemed at odds with the men they were supposed to become.

Small boys were a mystery to Sylvie. The satisfaction they gained from throwing sticks or stones for hours on end, the obsessive collection of inanimate objects, the brutal destruction of the fragile world around them, all seemed at odds with the men they were supposed to become.

Marlee was fourteen. A dangerous age, although, let's face it, Jackson thought, every age was a dangerous age for a woman.

She was twenty-eight but already jaded. Twenty-eight seemed a particularly unsatisfactory age. She was no longer young and yet no one ever seemed to take her seriously as an adult. People still told her what to do all the time, it was infuriating. Her only power seemed to be over her own children and even that was limited by endless negotiation.

Long lazy days like these will never come again in your life. You think they will but they won't.' -Sylvie

Boys took a long time to become men but daughters were women from the kickoff.

but it seemed so much worse somehow when he turned out to have golden curls like an angel and eyes the colour of forget-me-nots.

Maurice had disappeared after breakfast. He was a nine-year-old boy and free to go where he pleased with whomsoever he pleased, although he tended to keep to the exclusive company of other nine-year-old boys. Sylvie had no idea what they did but at the end of the day he would return, filthy from head to toe and with some unappetizing trophy, a jar of frogs or worms, a dead bird, the bleached skull of some small creature.

The Knights' Code," which he had learned by heart from Scouting for Boys, a book he frequently turned to in times of uncertainty, even now in his self-exile from the movement, demanded that "Chivalry requireth that youth should be trained to perform the most laborious and humble offices with cheerfulness and grace." He supposed entertaining Izzie was one of those occasions. It was certainly laborious.

It's always surprising to me how many young women think they have to be perfect. I rarely meet a young man who doesn't think he already is.