Quotes About Youth

I'm so glad you're here, Anne,' said Miss Lavendar, nibbling at her candy. 'If you weren't I should be blue…very blue…almost navy blue. Dreams and make-believes are all very well in the daytime and the sunshine, but when dark and storm come they fail to satisfy. One wants real things then. But you don't know this…seventeen never knows it. At seventeen dreams do satisfy because you think the realities are waiting for you further on.

It's rather hard to decide just when people are grown up,' laughed Anne. 'That's a true word, dearie. Some are grown up when they're born, and others ain't grown up when they're eighty, believe me. That same Mrs. Roderick I was speaking of never grew up. She was as foolish when she was hundred as when she was ten.' 'Perhaps that was why she lived so long,' suggested Anne.

Oh, Gilbert, don't let's ever grow too old and wise... no, not too old and silly for fairyland.

I'm afraid of those cows,' protested poor Dora, seeing a prospect of escape. 'The very idea of your being scared of those cows,' scoffed Davy. 'Why, they're both younger than you.

For there is no bond more lasting than that formed by the mutual confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping from the sheath of childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond those misty hills that bound the golden road.

Oh, WHY can't boys be just sensible!

You make me believe in fairies, whether I will or no, he told her, and that means youth. As long as you believe in fairies you can't grow old.

So bright and golden and fair, so free fro shadow and so lavish of blossom.

She told herself that she longed greatly to go back to those dear merry days when life was seen through a rosy mist of hope and illusion, and possessed an indefinable something that had passed away forever. Where was it now--the glory and the dream?

you'll be spared an awful lot of trouble if you die young.

Can I help you? said Jane. Though Jane herself had no inkling of it, those words were the keynote of her character. Any one else would probably have said, What is the matter? But Jane always wanted to help: and, though she was too young to realize it, the tragedy of her little existence was that nobody ever wanted her help.

The kind of juvenile story I like best to write -- and read, too, for the matter of that -- is a good, jolly one, art for art's sake, or rather fun for fun's sake, with no insidious moral hidden away in it like a pill in a spoonful of jam!

How sympathetic you look, Anne…as sympathetic as only seventeen can look.

It's no wonder we can't understand the grown-ups, said the Story Girl indignantly, because we've never been grown-up ourselves. But THEY have been children, and I don't see why they can't understand us.

but youth yearned to youth.

Ruby Gillis says when she grows up she's going to have ever so many beaus on the string and have them all crazy about her; but I think that would be too exciting. I'd rather just have one in his right mind.

Now, Anne, don't look as if you were trying to understand. Seventeen can't understand.

That boy ought to sleep with a rubber band around his head to train his ears not to stick out. I had a beau once who did that and it improved him immensely.

There is such a place as fairyland—but only children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way.

Young men are all very well in their place, but it doesn't do to drag them into everything, does it?

Perhaps college may be around the bend in the road, but I haven't got to the bend yet and I don't think much about it lest I might grow discontented.

On Monday I received a letter from Golden Days, a Philadelphia juvenile, accepting a short story I had sent there and enclosing a cheque for five dollars. It was the first money my pen had ever earned; I did not squander it in riotous living, neither did I invest it in necessary boots and gloves. I went up town and bought five volumes of poetry with it -- Tennyson, Byron, Milton, Longfellow, Whittier. I wanted something I could keep for ever in memory of having arrived.

Outside in the garden, which was full of mellow sunset light streaming through the dark old firs to the west of it, stood Anne and Diana, gazing bashfully at each other over a clump of gorgeous tiger lilies.

But Cecily's maiden feet were never to leave the golden road.