Quotes About Youth

I didn't get my first car until I was 22. It was a BMW 1602 and now I've got it back I'm waiting to restore it.

a pockmarked boy with a scraggy ponytail and four tiny rings in his right ear leaned against the wall of the armory, holding his dog on a leash, a sign hanging from his neck: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PET MY DOG. IT MAY MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER.

Part of why I love these angry, straight, white punks is that they are stripping the dharma of its bullshit, and applying it to contexts and styles that, even if they aren't mine, are at least different from the norm.

They don't want to be grown-ups. They're so rich they don't think they have to get old. They lived down here when they were twenty-three and they want to relive their bohemian days, except not crammed into a tiny apartment with roommates who never flush the toilet. I didn't have bohemian days. I worked.

All children are sweet at five. But at twelve they begin to get silly.

Listen to that--just listen to that. It puffs, it pants, it wheezes, it yanks its damn carcass up step by step--who'd ever believe that on stage it's a young girl.

Fine-looking young chap, isn't he? Would have cut quite a dash as a dragoon but for his vocation as a virgin.

Life isn't what you think it is. It's like water, and the young let it trickle away between their fingers without even noticing. Cup your hands, keep it safe. Life eventually becomes something else, something hard, something simple, something you can hold in your hand and nibble on contentedly as you sit in the sun.

Believe me, all evil comes from the old. They grow fat on ideas and young men die of them.

Pas envie de vivre... Qui se levait la première, le matin, rien que pour sentir l'air froid sur sa peau nue? Qui se couchait la dernière seulement quand elle n'en pouvait plus de fatigue, pour vivre encore un peu de la nuit? Qui pleurait déjà toute petite, en pensant qu'il y avait tant de petites bêtes, tant de brins d'herbe dans le pré et qu'on ne pouvait pas tous les prendre?

Le monde va finir, c'est-à-dire, en réalité, «L'enfance va finir». Et, parce qu'elle va finir, elle demeurera à tout jamais inachevée.

When I was 24, I was full of life. I was that ham who wanted to be famous, a movie star, all that stuff. I think it's cool. But it was not what I was searching for, really. It was more a delusion.

Youth is certain what it rejects before it knows what it will accept.

Children have neither past nor future; they enjoy the present, which very few of us do.

Children are contemptuous, haughty, irritable, envious, sneaky, selfish, lazy, flighty, timid, liars and hypocrites, quick to laugh and cry, extreme in expressing joy and sorrow, especially about trifles, they'll do anything to avoid pain but they enjoy inflicting it: little men already.

Children enjoy the present because they have neither a past nor a future.

You are young to talk of dying," said the Emperor, looking at Jester. "Learn rather to live, to enjoy the gifts lavished so prodigally by an unknown god: the heat of the sun, the cool of the sea at noon, the scent of the forest in the evening, horses galloping across the plain. You are rich because you are alive. Even unhappiness is still life. Learn to love and enjoy, and learn also to suffer. And, when the time comes, you will learn to die.

Pablo Picasso once remarked, 'One starts to get young at the age of sixty.

When this book [So Far From The Bamboo Grove] was accepted for publication, a writer friend told Yoko that now she would be competing with other writers. Yoko said, No, she would not compete with anyone for anything. 'I competed with life and death when young,' she said. 'And I won.' ... Here is the story of her victory.

In one of them I am sixteen or seventeen years old. I am wearing, under a jacket of the Assistance Publique, a torn sweater. My face is an oval, very pure; my nose is smashed, flattened by a punch in some forgotten fight. The look on my face is blasé, sad and warm, very serious. My hair was thick and unruly. Seeing myself at that age, I expressed my feelings almost aloud: "Poor little fellow, you've suffered.

In the second photo I am thirty years old. My face has hardened. The jaws are accentuated. The mouth is bitter and mean. I look like a hoodlum in spite of my eyes, which have remained gentle. Their gentleness is almost indiscernible because of the fixity of gaze imposed upon me by the official photographer. By means of these two pictures I can see the violence that animated me at the time: from the age of sixteen to thirty.

Worse than not realizing the dreams of your youth would be to have been young and never dreamed at all.

A young thinker, untainted by current indoctrinations. Someone who might do some real good in the world.

I don't think I was young even when I actually was young, and that wasn't yesterday.