Quotes About Childhood

Em venen ganes de donar-li'n les gràcies, d'abraçar-la. (No, el que en realitat tinc ganes de fer és agafar-la i ballar al voltant del cobert. Quan érem petits, l'agafava darrere de l'estable dels poltres i la portava un tros a coll, corrent, rient, mentre ella em deia que no li esclafés el pit, que li'n fugiria el cor.)

A la hija pequeña de Salome, Miep, la violentaron los hombres entre dos y tres veces distintas, pero Peters ha prohibido que la niña, que tiene tres años, reciba tratamiento médico, alegando que el médico difundiría rumores sobre la colonia y la gente sabría lo de las agresiones y convertirían todo el incidente en un escándalo.

and I finally understand what she needs to hear and that she's talking about not just me but Elf too and I tell her that my sorrow was not created by her, that my childhood was a joyful thing, an island in the sun, that her mothering is impeccable, that she is not to blame.

The truth is, when our mothers held us, rocked us, stroked our heads -none of us ever got enough of that. We all yearn in some way to return to those days when we were completely taken care of - unconditional love, unconditional attention. Most of us didn't get enough.

It's like going back to being a child again. Someone to bathe you. Someone to lift you. Someone to wipe you. We all know how to be a child. It's inside all of us. For me, It's just remembering how to enjoy it.

Dor felt a warm, calming feeling when he said those words—She is my wife—because ever since they were children she was like the sky to him, forever around.

He had his time measures and he had her. That was his life. For as long as he could remember, it had been that way, Dor and Alli, even as children. I do not want to die, she whispered. You will not die. I want to be with you. You are.

He ran down the heart of the old midway, where the weight guessers, fortune-tellers, and dancing gypsies had once worked. He lowered his chin and held his arms out like a glider, and every few steps he would jump, the way children do, hoping running will turn to flying. It might have seemed ridiculous to anyone watching, this white-haired maintenaance worker, all alone, making like an airplane. But the running boy is inside every man, no matter how old he gets.

You are born into your first one. Your mother plays the lead. She shares the stage with your father and siblings. Or perhaps your father is absent, an empty stool under a spotlight. But he is still a founding member, and if he surfaces one day, you will have to make room for him.

They say a child's eyes are fully formed around age three, and that is why they appear so large on the face. Or maybe those years are just so full of wonder, the child can't help it.

He found himself thinking about his childhood. Why do you drink so much, Maestro? This is not a music question. Are you sad, Maestro? Again, not a music question. I am sad sometimes, Maestro. Practice more. Speak less. You'll be happier. Yes, Maestro. Everyone joins a band in this life. Sometimes, they are the wrong ones.

Parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorb the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.

The hands on Eddie's childhood glass then were hard and calloused and red with anger, and he went through his younger years whacked, lashed, and beaten. This was the second damage done, the one after neglect. The damage of violence. It got so that Eddie could tell by the thump of the footsteps coming down the hall how hard he was going to get it.

I split my adolescence between the pulpy smell of books, which was my mother's passion, and the leathery smell of baseball gloves, which was my father's.

Then you came along, Chika. And maybe because I'm older now, or maybe because your eyes were so much wider than mine, or maybe because it'ssimply different when the child is in your care, something stirred. I began to lean over to see tiny miracles the way you saw them.

My dad barely moved. He never asked what happened. But to this day, I can still feel his waist in my wet grip, and the comfort it gave me. For many years, that was my peception of fatherhood, a place where a child can find sanctuary. Perhaps this is why I took over the orphanage. Perhaps I've grown into my father that way.

Back when she was a child. Back when everything was possible and there was still hope. Still so much hope in the world.

We are all refugees from our childhoods. And so, we turn, among other things, to stories.

A woman walks by the gate, leading a little boy with a balloon of hunger in his belly and hair bleached by malnutrition.

most of the battle. We are all refugees from our childhoods. And so we turn, among other things, to stories. To write a story, to read a story, is to be a refugee from the state of refugees.

I thought about this. As I have already told you, I did not grow up in poverty. But I did grow up with a poor boy's sense of longing

When I heard or said the word Kelly, I tasted canned peaches, delicious and candy-sweet. This, however, was the first time I had ever heard anyone say Powell. The word was a raw onion, a playground bully with sharp elbows shoving all flavors aside. Luckily for our friendship, little girls didn't often call each other by their full names.

I just question the value of isolated math, science and literary skills - especially when they're achieved at the expense of social skills - when our kids are little. I don't see ho it's putting them ahead if they know how to write their name before the next kid.

Curiosity is very important I think, and I think too much of education, starting with childhood education, is either designed to kill curiosity or it works out that way anyway.