Quotes About Youth

God made mud, God made dirt, God made boys so girls could flirt.

Love is too young to know what conscience is.

All young women begin by believing they can change and reform the men they marry. They can't.

The love we have in our youth is superficial compared to the love that an old man has for his old wife.

You may write it on his tombstone, You may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred

He was reputed one of the wise men that made answer to the question, when a man should marry? 'A young man not yet, an elder man not at all

I was eleven, then I was sixteen. Though no honors came my way, those were the lovely years.

Never get married in college; it's hard to get a start if a prospective employer finds you've already made one mistake.

Whatever you may look like, marry a man your own age - as your beauty fades, so will his eyesight.

I see you every day at school, we are young but I know I love you. Every time I talk to you my heart beats fast my mouth goes dry my heart aches for you. It hurts to love you so much. I wish you knew. I'm to afraid to tell you how I feel.

calm. "I'm just thinking I haven't really . . . um . . . seen you yet. I mean you seem . . . young. You feel really young." And beautiful. She felt very young and beautiful. "But if we get out of here and you're . . . uh . . . old and—" ugly—"sixty years old or something . . . well, it's going to be awkward.

Children delight in poetry if they are not frightened away by adults' fear of poetry.

I wondered if she was truly Rahtan. Yes, she was skilled, but she didn't exactly possess brawn—even if she had managed to overtake me and slam me up against the wall. But juggling? Riddles? Her age. Her poise and demeanor was that of a cynical tested soldier, but her appearance—she was young, younger than me, I was certain. Her black hair fell in thick, long waves, and her hands were delicate, her fingers more suited for a piano than a sword.

love's always a messy affair better left to young hearts

Safe travels, my friend," Rafe said, smiling as he gently nudged the boy's shoulder. That was all it took. The boy lost his hold and fell like a rock into the mud. This time the spray flew higher, spattering Rafe's chest. He rubbed the drops of mud in with his sweat and grinned. The crowd went wild, and a few girls standing near me whispered among themselves. I thought it was time for him to put his shirt back on.

My mother was beautiful but so very young. Too young to have me, but she did, and she loved me.

He was too young to begin losing himself.

There was only one person in the village who had actually known Luella Miller. That person was a woman well over eighty, but a marvel of vitality and unextinct youth.

I was three-and-thirty years of age. Youth was quite gone; beauty I had never possessed; and I was content to think of myself as a confirmed old maid, a quiet spectator of life's great drama, disturbed by no feverish desire for an active part in the play.

There was sufficient left, however, of the liveliness of a long time ago to give an air of ghastly mirth to the old woman's manner, which made that manner extremely repulsive. What can be more repulsive than old age, which, shorn of the beauties and graces, is yet not purified from the follies or the vices of departed youth?

I wanted to travel from the beginning. As a kid, I used to dream about airplanes, before I ever flew in one.

When one is young and on the threshold of life's long deception, rashness is all. —Françoise Sagan1

Look, just because I'm an angry, repressed, Irish-Catholic feminist doesn't mean I hate everything. I only hate youth, beauty, the human body, nature, technological change, popular culture, and democracy. Oh, and I forgot to mention sex. And sports. And Andy Warhol. But other than that, I'm cool with whatever the kids are into. Really!

C'est fou, quand on a huit ans, il n'y a rien de tel qu'une pizza pepperoni pour vous rendre heureux.