Quotes About Childhood

I almost said—trying to find some casual remark—'I wonder sometimes what has become of the little McCoo girl, did she ever get better?'—but stopped in time lest she rejoin: 'I wonder sometimes what has become of the little Haze girl . . .

Vladimir Nabokov

My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three

When I was a child and she was a child, my little Annabel was no nymphet to me; I was her equal, a faunlet in my own right, on that same enchanted island of time;

Mama mea, femeie fotogenic?, a murit în modul cel mai absurd (picnic, tr?snet) când aveam trei ani ÅŸi, în afara unui nor de c?ldur? în umbra trecutului, ea n-a l?sat nici o urm? pe drumurile pustii ale amintirii peste care a apus soarele copil?riei mele.

Unless it can be proven to me—to me as I am now, today, with my heart and my beard, and my putrefaction—that, in the infinite run it does not matter a jot that a North American girl child named Dolores Haze had been deprived of her childhood by a maniac, unless this can be proven (and if it can, life is a joke) I see nothing for the treatment of my misery but the melancholy and very local palliative of articulate art.

Uncle Dan was feeding.

If a mother identifies with every fall of her child and takes personal pride in its every success, her self-image will be as unstable as her child's balance. She finds stability when she realizes that she is not her child, and watches it with love and interest—but as a separate being.

Recollections of early childhood bear comparison to fairy tales, and ... youth remains an unknown country to whose bourn no traveler returns except as the agent of a foreign power.

People think man is cruel. Hey, what about the child of man? There ain't nothing meaner than some little deranged six-year-old sadistic motherfucker loose in a playground. You think a person's got to be grown before he's a maniac? Shit.

You have to discover when you're inadequate to be funny and you don't know you're inadequate when you're a kid.

I was so nerdy as a kid, the only thing that would have made beating me more attractive is if I'd been filled with candy.

The little boy in me still believes everything is possible. Mom, you taught me this. And you lied. But so does art and so does hope.

My early childhood years were during the final phase of World War II. My earliest memories were happy ones of a large family (I was the fourth child; later, two more were born) in a nice house with a large yard on a river, the Eger, in the town of Eger (now Cheb, a city

simply another child or adult. As children, we are not shy about telling our parents and those close to us about these experiences. Children are generally quite open, and don't fear being made fun of by their peers. Then, as we start school and get older, we find out people are not so open to hearing about psychic experiences. So we start to shut down and not talk openly about the experiences, for fear of being laughed at or labeled.

Inclusive se convertían en motivo de diversión, a tal grado que durante su niñez Tita no diferenciaba bien las lágrimas de la risa de las del llanto. Para ella reír era una manera de llorar.

Então algo mais acontece: tudo que a criança escuta de si mesma, positivo ou negativo, tem relação com o personagem que encarna, e assim, em sua necessidade desesperada de ser amada, a criança tentará ser o mais valente dos valentes, a mais bela das belas ou o mais doente dos doentes. Por quê? Porque se os adultos, ao olhá-la, olham seu personagem, então para ser olhada ela terá de exibir seu disfarce a fim de ser o melhor de todos.

Solo comprendiendo al niño que vive en nuestro interior, podemos acceder a la verdadera dimensión de nuestras falencias y nuestros miedos, y desde esa realidad emocional, ver qué recursos tenemos para mejorar nuestra vida de adultos. Es indispensable comprender que dependemos de nuestra realidad emocional. Y que tendremos que encontrar la propia voz para nombrarla.

Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmastime.

what our father called a chifforobe

Greenie Coombs became my best friend the last summer of making things up. We were in fourth grade, way too old for playing with Barbies, which is why we were so close: we had to protect our secret.

I had no idea whether they played hide-and-seek in Mexico. Still, it was a game that let me be confident instead of self-conscious and confused, so I reached out my hand to touch the nearest part of him, which was his knee. "Tag," I said. "You're it." If he had run, I could have chased him and known what I was doing, because I know how to be eight, nine, ten, and eleven...

This is one of the chief differences between a child's experience of a favorite book and an educated adult's. For the adult, a book may be a work of art, possibly a very great one, but for the child reader, certain books are universes. If we are lucky, we retain some of that capacity to be immersed in a story.

Después de esas piedras negras, dice Aguilar, ya qué me importaba cómo se llamara el tipo del hotel, podía llamarse como le diera la gana porque a mí Agustina me había llevado a conocer el río de su niñez.