Quotes About Childhood

I sailed through my childhood with a complete lack of any drama.

A child who has never fantasized about having other parents is seriously lacking in imagination.

I watched the early morning light pass over and through the windows of colored glass, leaving streaks of red and green and yellow on the stone floor. When I was little, I used to try and capture the colored light. I thought I could hold it in my hand and carry it home. Now I know it is like happiness-- it is there or it is not, you cannot hold it or keep it.

We used to fly past shoppers in the town centre and especially in the winter, wrapped up in our duffle coats, woolen hats and scarves we used to get so warm that there would soon be coats unbuttoned, scarves trailing behind and rosy cheeks by the time we got to school.

David and Raymond discussed their childhoods and Raymond said that after the twins left the farm, Domko occasionally beat him as well. They had a few long talks and were able to settle their differences. had a few long talks and settled their differences. They discussed their childhoods and Raymond admitted that Domko had occasionally beaten him as well.

By the summer I turned nine Daddy had given up about having a boy. He tried making me do.

If I'm a little girl, then that makes you a serious pervert.

How could they let me grow up like that—happy and pink and stupid?

I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart beating, solid and sure.....he reads me so well. He's known about my emotional empathy since we were children. Nothing disturbs him...Few can lie to me... I don't know the truth, only that there is a lie. It takes a scrupulously honest man to love me. That's my Sean. We learned to trust each other completely before we were old enough to have learned suspicion.

Helen can't stop smiling." He looked proud of this fact. "Helen has never stopped smiling. She smiled the day I shot her in the knee with a BB gun." That was a good day. Fourth grade. Summer picnic. The savage beauty of childhood.

When the smell of her perfume, something that reminded him of faint spicy blossoms and spring, wasn't wreathed in a cloud around him. Maybe it was magic. Was she one of the creatures from the many Scottish tales his nurse had told him as a child?

I was a fairy-minded kid, a comic book kid, and I had a bad habit of looking for augurs and protectors where there were none.

As a kid I heard the word malignancy as "Malig-Nancy" like an evil woman's name, no matter how many times Kiwi and the Chief and Dr. Gautman himself corrected me. Our mother had mistaken her first symptoms for a pregnancy, and so I still pictured the Malig-Nancy as a baby, a tiny, eyeless fist of a sister, killing her.

Maybe that rusty boat hangar looked like the entrance to a cave to her," he'd said. Maybe. If you were eight, and near-sighted, and nostalgic for places that you'd never been. But if the Glowworm Grotto actually exists, that changes everything. Olivia's ghost could be there now, twitching her nose with rabbity indignation - "But I left you a map!" Wondering what took us so long to find her.

We amassed a plastic weapons cache in the hollow of the oak that included the Sounds of Warfare Blazer, a toy gun that required sixteen triple-A batteries to make a noise like a tubercular guinea pig. Those

When you are a kid, it's hard to tell the innocuous secrets from the ones that will kill you if you keep them.

Kids were for later, maybe. They could still see the children they had been.

Back then we played actual games. We hid and we sought.

She used to suffer these intense bouts of homesickness in her own bedroom. When she was very small, she would wake up tearing at her bedspread and shrieking, "I wanna go home! I wanna go home!" Which was distressing to all of us, of course, because she was home.

When you're a kid, it's hard to tell the innocuous secrets from the ones that will kill you if you keep them.

They say that not matter how old you become, when you are with your siblings, you revert back to childhood.

Vad jag vet är, att av sjuka föräldrar och sjuka lärare fostras ännu sjukare barn, tills det sjuka har blivit norm och det friska en skräckbild. Av ensamma föds ännu ensammare, av rädda ännu räddare (s. 144)

Daddy would call you his brave soldier boy, and you would believe it. When they lifted you out of that hiding place and smiled at you so proud, you didn't feel like an eight-year-old at all.

For almost twenty-five years, we tracked the life progress of 790 children who began first grade in the fall of 1982 in twenty Baltimore public elementary schools. This book is about their journey from childhood into young adulthood. It happens that one of these schools, the poorest of the twenty, is located in a neighborhood that borders the two depicted in The Corner. To characterize that school as high need would be an