Quotes About Childhood

I played a lot of dress-up in my room. I really liked being alone. I had a lot of friends, but I had an only-child, live-in-my-head personality.

I was born in Belgium, but we moved to Kilburn when I was one, so 'Time Out' has always been in the background of my life.

I grew up in Belgium and my best friends in school was one African kid and one from Asia.

I believed in Santa Claus until I was 12!

I was actually quite small when I was young. No one believes me now, but I have pictures at home.

I was a feral child. Always on the go. My mother used to sew bells into my dresses so they would know where I was.

In my mother's belly, I remember not liking the tempi my father played the Beethoven Sonatas in.

I belong to this family: Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's family. Since my childhood I have always wanted to sing and learn music. Whenever I saw Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan play, I felt inspired to be like him.

I belonged to Stratford Children's Theater when I was a boy growing up in Manchester. Even then, I was always doing character parts.

When a child is small, it is his mother who is mainly responsible for the way he is brought up. So it was with me. I belonged in those days to my mother rather than my father.

I would just encourage people: your childhood belongs to you, and don't give anyone, especially me, the power to ruin your childhood.

Fading photographs on the corridor walls from the 1960s and 1970s showed children strapped to frightening-looking machines, wires dangling from their heads. They smiled at the camera in uncomprehending excitement as if they were at the beach.

ja nie wybaczam niczego. nawet je?li w pi?tej klasie zw?dzi?e? mi pomara?czow? kredk?, to jeste? ju? na zawsze na mojej czarnej li?cie, draniu.

Listening to him, I realized how lucky I was not to have had a wonderful childhood. Those who do, or those who peak in their early years, have only that remembered joy or strength to tide them over the rest of their lives. Nothing could ever be as good as that time; for them nothing ever is.

I'm one of those unlucky people who had a happy childhood.

Simply being a social isolate as a child does not, however, doom you to bad breath and poor party skills as an adult. In fact, it can make you hypersocial. It's just that at some point you'll begin to feel a gnawing, almost remorseful need to be alone and do some reading - to reconnect to that community.

Only I still had a problem. The problem was my parents. Of the many things I was afraid of in those days - spiders, insomnia, fish hooks, school dances, hardball, heights, bees, urinals, puberty, music teachers, dogs, the school cafeteria, censure, older teenagers, jellyfish, locker rooms, boomerangs, popular girls, the high dive - I was probably most afraid of my parents.

Over the balustrade I could see the dark trees of Webster Groves and the more distant TV-tower lights that marked the boundaries of my childhood. A night wind coming across the football practice field carried the smell of thawed winter earth, the great sorrowful world-smell of being alive beneath a sky.

A child who's got the habit will start reading under the covers with a flashlight, she said. If the parents are smart, they'll forbid the child to do this, and thereby encourage her. Otherwise she'll find a peer who also has the habit, and the two of them will keep it a secret between them.

An accident of brain development stacked the deck against children: the mother had three or four years to fuck with your head before your hippocampus began recording lasting memories. You'd been talking to your mom since you were one year old and listening to her for even longer, but you couldn't remember a single word of what you or she had said before your hippocampus kicked into gear. Your

The cabin was dark. Inside it was the sound of her childhood, the patter of rain on a roof that consisted only of shingle and bare boards, no insulation or ceiling. She associated the sound with her mother's love, which had been as reliable as the rain in its season. Waking up in the night and hearing the rain still pattering the same way it had when she'd fallen asleep, hearing it night after night, had felt so much like being loved that the rain might have been love itself.

Watching him fall down and pick himself back up, Perry mourned no longer being small enough that falling didn't hurt. He no longer even remembered how it felt to have the ground so unthreateningly proximate. Why had he been in such a hurry to grow up? It was as if he'd never experienced the grace of childhood.

A four-year-old says, "My mommy lives in heaven. Her eyelashes go down instead of up because she is Ã¢â'¬Â¦ in heaven, but I miss her." She feels consoled that her mother "is with God," who, she says, "has pink whiskers, red hair, and two feet.… I did not want her to die until I died. I think I am going to die too in a little while.

He promised us that everything would be okay. I was a child, but I knew that everything would not be okay. That did not make my father a liar. It made him my father.