Quotes About Childhood

It really was hand-to-mouth and you can say, 'Poor little me, how dreadful, what a deprived childhood', but I didn't feel that way at all. It's all about the attitude at home.

The dandelion is a gawky yellow flower that blooms and then collapses into a soft, clumsy down that little children blow wishes on.

I loathe my childhood and all that remains of it. Jean-Paul Sartre, Words

In the peculiar alchemy of literature, the daughter was adept at creating in fiction what she had not known in her own childhood.

Their school was taught by William Masters's brother, Samuel Masters, whom the children called "Uncle Sam." He was a tall, thin, bald man with bad breath and a worrying habit of fondling girls' hands. Laura protected herself by concealing a pin in her fingers and stabbing him with it. After that, she said, he left her alone.

That's a cheat,' I say. 'You can't go through life blaming your childhood for the way you are as an adult.

He nodded. A curt movement of his head, and she was, for no reason at all, convinced that the man before her was not in dislike of her but simply a man who did not have words come easily to him because he'd grown up alone. She thought of him as a boy. Lonely here, with no father and no mother to hold him, only the servants for company, and Killhope as an unceasing reminder of the centuries of duty and responsibility that were his. Her heart twisted up.

While most people had moved on from children's books, Jake still loved them. They felt cozy like hot chocolate with mini marshmallows or a new jumbo box of Crayola crayons.

I wasn't a ballet baby. My first dance class was in an outdoor pavilion when I was three. It was called 'creative movement.' The teacher gave us chiffon scarves in beautiful colors. She turned on some music and said, 'Now go dance.' So for me, dance has always been about self-expression.

Tenderness fills her. Here it is, the moon that has followed her everywhere through her childhood ... Here is the moon —dear, distant companion—yet now intimately near and patient.

You were very serious," her grandmother continued. "You had these big brown eyes and you were always going, 'What's that? What's that?' You wondered what everything was. You would frown and point a lot, like a conductor looking for your orchestra. You always seemed very busy, like you were between appointments all the time, but you were just a little child.

I shoplifted. I was about five years old, and I took a candy from a store. We paid for three of them, but I took four, and I went home and cried. My mom took me back, and I paid for the missing piece.

But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes. The heart of a hurt child can shrink so that forever afterward it is hard and pitted as the seed of a peach. Or again, the heart of such a child may fester and swell until it is a misery to carry within the body, easily chafed and hurt by the most ordinary things.

Your roots aren't to be found in your childhood so much as in your child. It's he who provides your link to the world, and home is wherever he is.

Human life without knowledge of history is nothing other than a perpetual childhood, nay, a permanent obscurity and darkness. -Philip Melanchthon

So, in accepting the New Age teachings in the 1960s, had I somehow accepted the very religion that had frightened me so much as a child?

From the hour when Gabriel saluted her, the little girl in Nazareth, she had had to seek for Him through faith: to believe that he was in her; to believe that this little child whom she rocked to sleep was God; that it was God whom she taught to walk, to speak, to hold a spoon.

And mine's a bubble not blown up for praise, But just to play with, as an infant plays.

Whatever was said or done, I knew what I wanted; and that was to be a boy among the boys.

All Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. I smell hot bread baking. I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf. I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "I don't smell anything," she said.

I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I'm flying. We're both laughing, laughing so much that I could hardly catch a breath, and finally I laugh so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh the louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me.

He looked like a naughty child who had managed to steal the moon and eat it.

Queen Visenya put a sword into her son's hand when he was three. Supposedly the first thing he did with the blade was butcher one of the castle cats.