Quotes About Childhood

Judy Blume spent her childhood in Elizabeth, New Jersey, making up stories inside her head. She has spent her adult years in many places, doing the same thing, only now she writes her stories down on paper. Her twenty-seven books have won many awards, including the National Book Foundation's Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. Judy lives in Key West and New

Before the end of the week, Fudge asked the big question. "How did the baby get inside you, Mommy?" So

windup train that made a lot of noise. Every time it bumped into something it turned around and went the other way. Fudge liked it a lot. He likes anything that's noisy.

Ralph arrived first. He's really fat. And he isn't even four years old. He doesn't say much either. He grunts and grabs a lot, though. Usually his mouth is stuffed full of something.

Thith ith too nautheating for wordth!" Libby said, grabbing Jake and running back into the house.

fourth grade nothing.

Jimmy Fargo's birthday party. All the other guys got to take home goldfish in little plastic bags. I won him because I guessed there were three hundred and forty-eight jelly beans in Mrs. Fargo's jar. Really

Yet," Fudge said. Then he took off again, laughing like a lunatic.

She wiped off the wall with her napkin and told Fudge he was very, very naughty. "Not me," Fudge said. "Not me!

Jiska bachpan hi ghar ki ladaaiya dekh guzra ho Woh ab dara sehma sa rehta hain toh zamaane ko malaal kyu

All the little Indians in a half circle around Aunt Emily are getting an imprinting that will last for life. The sound of her voice reading will condition how they look upon themselves and the world. It will become part of the loved ambience of Battell Pond, a glint in the chromatic wonder of childhood. These small sensibilities will never lose the images of dark woods and bright lake. Nature to them will always be beneficent and female.

People should like poetry the way a child likes snow, and they would if poets wrote it.

Too many people grow up. That`s the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up. They forget. They don`t remember what it`s like to be 12 years old. They patronize, they treat children as inferiors. Well I won`t do that

There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million.

Tradition in the nursery has acted as a severe editor.

As I've gone through life, I've found that your chances for happiness are increased if you wind up doing something that is a reflection of what you loved most when you were somewhere between nine and eleven years old

Many have referred to [Lewis] Carroll's rhymes as nonsense, but in my childhood world — Los Angeles in the '50s — they made perfect sense.

The childhood of our parents is forever inscrutable, the cave within the cave of our own. The light's too dim, the dancing shadows unreliable, fundamentally unstable, even the impromptu photographs and private letters somehow contrived.

In some ways, Meier was trying to extend the kindergarten experience through all grades. Teaching kindergarten "was such an extraordinary intellectual experience, and I thought, Why couldn't we just keep doing that?" Only in kindergarten, she told me, "do we put up with kids asking questions that are off-topic.

In studying "master questioners," Hal Gregersen inquired about their childhoods and found that most had "at least one adult in their lives who encouraged them to ask provocative questions." The Nobel laureate scientist Isidor Isaac Rabi was one such child; when he came home from school, "while other mothers asked their kids 'Did you learn anything today?' [my mother ] would say, 'Izzy, did you ask a good question today?

Yet chances are, for the rest of her life, that four-year-old girl will never again ask questions as instinctively, as imaginatively, or as freely as she does at that shining moment. Unless she is exceptional, that age is her questioning peak.

My father was a small-town banker. He became very ill when I was 10 years old, and we went to California three years later in an attempt to recover his health, which never happened.

Who can tell, when he sets forth to wander, whither he may be driven by the unscertain currents of existence, or when he may return, or whether it may ever be his lot to revisit the scenes of his childhood?

My mom didn't let me play video games growing up, so now I do. Gaming gives me a chance to just let go, blow somebody up and fight somebody from another dimension. It's all escapism.