Quotes About Youth

Nath had just started the first grade, Lydia had just started nursery school, Hannah had not yet even been imagined. For the first time since she'd been married, Marilyn found herself unoccupied. She was twenty-nine years old, still young, still slender. Still smart, she thought. She could go back to school now, at last, and finish her degree. Do everything she'd planned before the children came along. Only now she couldn't remember how to write a paper, how

By the time they had graduated, he had fallen for Shaker Heights as well, the way Elena described it: the first planned community, the most progressive community, the perfect place for young idealists. In his own little hometown, they'd been suspicious of ideas: he'd grown up surrounded by a kind of resigned cynicism, though he'd been sure the world could be better.

Izzy had the heart of a radical, but she had the experience of a fourteen-year-old living in the suburban Midwest. Which is to say: she cast about for ideas for exacting revenge -- egged windows, flaming bags of dog shit -- and chose the best thing in her limited repertoire.

Somewhere in the center of this circle his daughter, friendless and alone, must have dived into the water in despair.

At the sight of her on the phone, a lightness crossed his face, like clouds shifting after strong wind. She saw him as he must have looked when he was young, long before she had been born: boyishly hopeful, possibilities turning his eyes into stars.

Dave Matthews Band was dope; Bryan Adams was jake. Getting to third base was dope; being grounded was jake. After that, he'd stayed upstairs when Tim came over, and was meanly glad when he and Trip began to drift apart. Now here was Tim calling Moody's name—his

she was trying on new skins, like all teenagers do,

Moody slid shrieking down the hill, backward and belly first and three at a time and once – in Trip's case – standing up like a surfer. Mrs. Richardson, perched atop the hill, applauded and cheered. Then Izzy went down

Izzy had the heart of a radical, but she had the experience of a fourteen-year-old living in the suburban Midwest.

Even the younger Richardsons had it, this sureness in themselves.

She's twenty-three, he thinks; she knows nothing about life, wasted or otherwise.

About which books are useful to their students and which books might expose them to dangerous ideas. Let me ask you something: Whose parents want them to spend time with bad people?

He found himself daydreaming back to his own teenage years in Hong Kong, sneaking into the botanical gardens with Betsy Choy, those dreamlike afternoons he had never told anyone about, and had not remembered to relive, for many years. The young are always the same, always and everywhere, he thought, and he shifted the car into gear and drove on.

Half an hour later, the dancing and the liquor and the sweet, heady rush of being eighteen had filled them both with a feverish flush.

James remembers: long ago, when they were young and the worst thing they could imagine was not being together . . . That moment, that connection, seems far away and small now, like something that happened in another life.

Pearl glanced over her shoulder, in the universal reaction of all teenagers confronted by their parents in a public place

Izzy had the heart of a radical, but she had the experience of a fourteen-year-old living in the suburban Midwest. Which was to say: she cast about for ideas for exacting revenge—egged windows, flaming bags of dog shit—and chose the best thing in her limited repertoire. Three afternoons later, Pearl

Once upon a time. Once upon a time there was—a boy who loved cats.

Like a child, she would not see beyond the demolished walls of her soap bubble which had encased her in its iridescence, promising scarves of brilliant colours, perfume, fine stockings, cosmetics, bracelets, rich warm cardigans, petticoats with frills and inset lace. Tablets of soap, bed socks and two handkerchiefs were weapons piercing her with old age.

I was not a good-lookin' girl. I was extremely skinny. I wasn't pretty. I wasn't cool.

Çünkü burada,bu kavaklar?n dibinde,büyüleyici bir cam k?r??? gibi kald? çocuklu?um...

Tarih çark? gittikçe daha h?zl? dönüyor. Çocuklar?m?z her ?eyi kendileri anlay?p ö?renmek, kendi ak?llar?yla yapmak, bizim i?lerimizi üstlenmek zorunda kalacaklar. Oysa dü?ünmek her zaman ac? veren a??r bir i?tir. Onun için onlar?n hayat? bizimkine göre daha zor olacakt?r...

Childhood is not only the childhood we really had but also the impressions we formed of it in our adolescence and maturity. That is why childhood seems so long. Probably every period of life is multiplied by our reflections upon the next.

Così questo paese, dove non sono nato, ho creduto per molto tempo che fosse tutto il mondo. Adesso che il mondo l'ho visto davvero e so che è fatto di tanti piccoli paesi, non so se da ragazzo mi sbagliavo poi di molto.