Quotes About Childhood

As a kid, being with her was easy; it was the nearest to heaven I've ever been.

My father is taking me to my first baseball game. The Philadelphia Athletics are playing. I feel I've been sitting on my strange hard seat for a long time. I stand up. It is the National Anthem. I want to go home now, I tell my father. He is looking down at the big green field. But the game hasn't started yet, he says. Then he shrugs. He laughs and his laughter is big like the wind. O.K., kid. O.K. And he takes my by the hand and leads me out of the stadium.

Copil fiind, îÈ™i tr?ise viaÈ›a m?runt? pe de-a întregul în sinea ei. De timpuriu înÈ›elesese instinctiv dualitatea existenÈ›ei: viaÈ›a exterioar?, la care te adaptezi, viaÈ›a interioar?, în care îÈ›i pui întreb?ri.

Sugary things were restricted; candy was limited, and the only cereals we got were Cheerios, corn flakes, and wholesome hot cereals. Pop (as we called it in Arizona) was out of the question; we drank nothing but milk, water, and juice in our house. Of course, out-and-out junk food like Cheetos and Pop-Tarts was never allowed.

There was, truly no place for him. The home of his childhood was long gone, and it had never been his home, even when he was a child. His mother had said to him, Do not anger your father. Try to do as he says. Try to be who he wants you to be. But he had not known how to do that, had he? He still did not know how to do that. He knew, only, how to be himself. And shouldn't home be the place where you are allowed to be yourself, loved as yourself?

Dortchen was called the wild one because one day, when she was seven years old, she had got lost in the forest. She had wandered off to a far-distant glade where a willow tree trailed its branches in a pool of water. Dortchen crept within the shadowy tent of its branches and found a green palace. She wove herself a crown of willow tendrils and collected pebbles and flowers to be her jewels. At last, worn out, she lay down on a velvet bed of moss and fell asleep.

I have been fascinated with fairy tales ever since I was first given a red leather-bound copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales when I was just seven years old. Of all the stories of beauty and peril and adventure within its pages, it was the story of 'Rapunzel' that resonated with me most powerfully.

As I grew up, I read and loved many fairy-tale retellings and began to think about writing my own reimagining of 'Rapunzel.

No, I say. In no moral universe would this not be a crime, I say. I was a child, I tell him. Shame on you, I say. Shame on you, I say. Shame on you. And he laughs and reaches out for me. "You are cute as pie when you're angry," he says. "Come here," he says. "How old are you again?" he says. "Close your eyes," he says.

The more subtle inheritance of my strange childhood was the feeling, which we all shared to some extent, of believing we were never quite going about things correctly. Had I said the right thing? Had I worn the right clothes? Was I attractive? These questions were unsettling and self-absorbing, even overwhelming at times, and remained so throughout much of my adult life, until, at last, I grew impatient with dwelling on the past.

How deep and sticky is the darkness of childhood, how rigid the blades of infant evil, which is unadulterated, unrestrained by the convenient cushions of age and its civilizing anesthesia.

The idea of living in the same house for all your childhood and having the same knot of devoted friends seemed magical to me, who had lived in thirteen different places by the time I was thirteen.

The infamous "Rape of Nanking" that occurred not long afterward, just 102 miles farther north, tells a story of what might have happened at my childhood home were it not for that commander.

Jess vio cómo su padre detenía la camioneta y se inclinaba a abrir la puerta para que May Belle pudiera subir. Se volvió. Pequeña con suerte. Ella podía correr tras él y cogerle y besarle. Jess sentía un dolor por dentro cuando veía a su padre subir a las pequeñas en sus hombros o se agachaba para darles un abrazo. Le parecía que creían que era demasiado grande para esas cosas desde que nació.

When I was a child, it was a matter of pride that I could plow through a Nancy Drew story in one afternoon, and begin another in the evening. . . . I was probably trying to impress the librarians who kept me supplied with books.

Her childhood had been magical, hours spent in ecstatic loneliness in the apple orchard, dreaming of foreign lands and wild adventures. Everything was new, down to bird song and grass blades. By the time she had reached adulthood, the town around her was like a grandmother who had used up all her stories and now simply rocked on the porch. The same flowers, the same streets, year after year. She longed for someone more exotic. A prince. A pirate.

I am Eloise. I am six. I live at the Plaza hotel.

What he wanted was not just to hear about Hailsham, but to remember Hailsham, just like it had been his own childhood. He knew he was close to completing and so that's what he was doing: getting me to describe things to him, so they'd really sink in, so that maybe during those sleepless nights, with the drugs and the paint and the exhaustion, the line would blur between what were my memories and what were his.

The colonel nodded. Our childhood seems so far away now. All this - he gestured out of the vehicle - so much suffering. One of our Japanese poets, a court lady many years ago, wrote how sad this was. She wrote of how our childhood becomes like a foreign land once we have grown. Well, Colonel, it's hardly a foreign land to me. In many ways, it's where I've continued to live all my life. It's only now I've started to make my journey from it.

She wrote of how our childhood becomes like a foreign land once we have grown." "Well, Colonel, it's hardly a foreign land to me. In many ways, it's where I've continued to live all my life. It's only now I've started to make my journey from

and I half-closed my eyes and imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was now standing here in front of it, and if I waited long enough, a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field, and gradually get larger until I'd see it was Tommy, and he'd wave, maybe even call.

Çöpleri, dallara tak?lm?? sallanan naylon parçalar?n?, tel örgüye tak?lm?? tuhaf ÅŸeylerin oluÅŸturduÄŸu hatt? düÅŸünüyordum ve gözlerimi k?s?p çocukluÄŸumdan bu yana kaybettiÄŸim her ÅŸeyin buraya sürüklendiÄŸini hayal ettim, ÅŸimdi burada, hepsinin önünde duruyordum ve yeterince beklersem, tarlalar?n ötesinde, ufuk hatt?nda ufac?k bir figür belirecekti.

So why had we stayed silent that day? I suppose it was because even at that age—we were nine or ten—we knew just enough to make us wary of that whole territory. It's hard now to remember just how much we knew by then. We certainly knew—though not in any deep sense—that we were different from our guardians, and also from the normal people outside; we perhaps even knew that a long way down the line there were donations waiting for us.

As I passed Mrs. Morris, I motioned that I was going out to use the washroom. I'm sure she knew better, but she just smiled and waved me on. We aren't a school with a truancy problem. Let's be honest: Where would you go if you skipped class? No mall. No coffee shop. No hangout where the person running the place hasn't known you from childhood…and knows you should be in class.