Quotes About Youth

Un joven es siempre una incógnita. Matarlo es matar la posibilidad del misterio, todo lo que hubiera podido ser, su extraordinaria riqueza, su complejidad. •José Soriano Muñoz, maestro de la Escuela Wilfrido Massieu

A ella todo le salía, escogía bien las películas que iban a ver, los libros, los amigos, se manejaba con seguridad. Con ella eran buenas las conversaciones y buenas las comidas. Mucho más madura que las de su edad; llevarla a su lado, ahuecando el pecho, su pelo de lino alborotado, era una certeza equiparable a saber que la tierra gira en torno al sol.

Un régimen que se ensaña contra sus jóvenes, los mata, los encierra, les quita horas, días, años de su vida absolutamente irrecuperables, es un régimen débil y cobarde, que no puede subsistir. •Isabel Sperry de Barraza, maestra de primaria

Matar a un joven es matar la esperanza. • Cristina Correa de Salas, maestra de primaria

Estoy convencido de que el futuro de este país pertenece a los jóvenes de mi generación. •Gilberto Guevara Niebla, del CNH

you will see . . . Gauguin and Bernard talk now of 'painting like children' – I would rather have that than 'painting like decadents'.

Halbwüchsige [...], die sich in der Welt schon abgehärtet haben, aber noch keine Verantwortung tragen, auch für ihre Körper nicht. Sie vertragen es, wenn Unten einmal Oben ist und umgekehrt.

Many young people are still driven to art, as in olden times. Most of them are driven by their parents, who know nothing about art—only that it exists.

I was the hero of the young insurgent working class art movement.

Det var slutet för den unge, så gick Kullervo ur tiden, denne olycksfödde yngling, för att aldrig återkomma. /.../ Eftervärld, låt aldrig barnet uppfostras av onda viljor, vyssjas av förvända mänskor, vaggas fel av obekanta. Den som en gång fostrats galet, vyssjas bakvänt, vaggas illa, han blir aldrig som han borde,

I'm twenty-six," she said, as if it were bad news she had received only recently. "It isn't the age I feel like." "What age do you feel like?" "Nineteen -- like you." But, to me, nineteen still felt old and somehow alien to who I was. It occurred to me that it might take more than a year -- maybe as many as seven years -- to learn to feel nineteen.

How brief and magical it was that we all lived so close to each other and went in and out of each other's rooms, and our most important job was to solve mysteries. The temporariness made it all the more important to do the right thing—to follow the right leads.

It can be really exasperating to look back at your past. What's the matter with you? I want to ask her, my younger self, shaking her shoulder. If I did that, she would probably cry. Maybe I would cry, too. It would be like one of those Marguerite Duras books I tried to read in Svetlana's aunt's apartment. Elle pleure. Il pleure. Ils pleurent, tous les deux.

I'm not happy," Rósza said. "Why not?" "I don't know." "Are you worried about school?" "No." "Then why?" "Because I'm alone." I felt a wave of exasperation and despair. Was that what all of life was going to be like - you had to be sad when you didn't have a boyfriend?

What a beautiful girl you are," he said, with a kind of ache or awe in his voice, that made me think about how someday I would be old or dead or both, and the transience of all things, of the car, the moonlight, the volcanic rock that was eroding and the stars that were shooting by, made the world seem at once more important and less important, until finally the concept of "important" itself faded away like an expiring firework that glittered against the sky.

Svetlana said that when she was in the first grade, kids would torture each other in the playground by asking, "Who do you love more, Comrade Tito or your own mother?

Joining the literary magazine hadn't previously occurred to me. I didn't want to be an editor, or run a magazine, so why would I want to do a fake version of those things in college?

I'm 26," she said, as if it were bad news she had received only recently. "It isn't the age I feel like." "What age do you feel like?" "Nineteen, like you." But to me, 19 still felt old and somehow alien to who I was. It occurred to me that it might take more than a year, maybe as many as seven years, to learn to feel 19.

There is this way that I felt when I was younger that we were beyond history and we were all citizens of the world that now seems so naive.

It can be really exasperating to look back at your past. What's the matter with you? I want to ask her, my younger self, shaking her shoulder. If I did that, she would probably cry. Maybe I would cry, too. It would be like one of those Marguerite Duras books I tried to read in Svetlana's aunt's apartment. Elle pleure. Il pleure. Ils pleurent, tous les deux.

It can be really exasperating to look back at your past. What's the matter with you? I want to ask her, my younger self, shaking her shoulder. If I did that, she would probably cry. Maybe I would cry too. It would be like one of those Marguerite Duras books I tried to read in Svetlana's aunt's apartment.

But, to me, nineteen still felt old and somehow alien to who I was. It occurred to me that it might take more than a year–maybe as many as seven years–to learn to feel nineteen.

Youth is a clearer witness to the world.

The computer on the desk of the student in school knows no history. It is not like a book, worn at the edges by human hands. No little child has written a note in it, long ago. It will not be passed down to the children of the children who use it. Its "meaning" is that there is no enduring meaning.