Quotes About Youth

She's got the kind of ethereal, unselfconscious beauty some young girls possess that breaks your heart. Or theirs.

Those brain-zapped kids weren't the only - or maybe even the worst - enemy.

I wish to learn silence from the dark woods, the unused middle rooms, from the girls in their white dresses,

Question What is a child? A quiet between two bombardments.

The body of the boy lies on the asphalt like a paperclip. The body of the boy lies on the asphalt like the body of a boy.

She's the sort of girl who gets high easily, off the music, off a moment. Maybe I was like that when I first came down the Hill. All wide-eyed and trying to take it all in. Everything was exciting.

Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul!

I can see the young man on dizzily autumn mornings, the fog of which he inhaled just like the rapidly evaporating freedom.

There I am in my younger days, stargazing, painting picture perfect maps of how my life and love would be not counting the unmarked paths of misdirection, my compass faith in love's perfection I missed a million miles of road I should have seen.

The magic here is not spectacular courage in one or two battles but the glamour of commitment to death at the peak of youth and beauty: the poignancy of the exhib-itionistic narcissism of youth determined once and for all on magnificent expenditure rather than slow wasting and remorseless physical deterioration.

Elisabeth had not had her future and her parents had not had theirs, there was nothing to this so-called future which was always promised to the young.

The children are in love but do not know with what. They talk in gibberish, muse themselves into an indefinable pallor, and when they are completely at a loss they invent a language that maddens them. My fish. My hook. My fox. My snare. My fire. You my water. You my current. My earth. You my if. And you my but. Either. Or. My everything...my everything...They push one another, go for each other with their fists and scuffle over a counter-word that doesn't exist.

Me too," I say. We sit there in the chair together, kissing like we did when we were sixteen and everything in the world seemed possible. Turns out, it is.

That hindsight thing will bite you in the butt every time. And there's just something about youth that keeps us from realizing how every choice we make matters. What I would give if I could just go back and spend those nights with Beck when he was a little boy at home.

the letter the young composer

When I was as old as these children, I could draw like Raphael, but it took me a lifetime to learn to draw like them.

ALL languages, is still a very young one.

What, is THAT it? Is that all there is to life, to MY life, to MY existence? And even the young can

The future of this nation, with the present generation, You must admit is nothing but a joke

From my window I watched the full moon—a moon that reminded me of Brett—become shadowed, little by little until there was only a deep blackness in the woods at night. I would sit there wakeful, hour after hour, and wonder if this aching around my heart, this sense of being alone, forlorn and unwanted in a world where there was gayety and love for others of my age, was going to continue for all of my days.

After all, the three of us were young. It wasn't just about the pleasure of the flesh. No, it wasn't that simple. The flesh is easy to satisfy. It's the heart that is insatiable, the heart that needs to love, to despair, to burn with any kind of fire…That was what we wanted. To burn, to be consumed, to devour our days just as fire devours the forest.

When you're twenty, love is like a fever, it makes you almost delirious. When it's over you can hardly remember how it happened...Fire in the blood, how quickly it burns itself out.

Memories of the past would return to us more often if only we sought them out, sought their intense sweetness. But we let them slumber within us, and worse, we let them die, rot, so much so that the generous impulses that sweep through our souls when we are twenty we later call naive, foolish…Our purest, most passionate loves take on the depraved appearance of sordid pleasure.

You look like the first breath of spring