Quotes About Childhood

I think I was only five years old when 'Aashiqui' happened. And I remember very faintly that my father used to bring home all the music that was being done at that point of time, and make everyone in the house listen to the songs and get an opinion on them.

I grew up with my grandfather, so I knew him really, really well. He was funny and opinionated and wonderful. He was fascinated by things and always curious.

From childhood he had been devoted to whatever was useless, metamorphosing the streetcar rattle of life into events of consequence, and when he began to fall in love he tried to tell women about this, but they did not understand him, for which he revenged himself by speaking to them in a wild, bombastic birdy language and exclusively about the loftiest matters.

Nebylo tu nic poÃ…â"¢ádného k snÄ›dku, bylo to jenom velké akvárium, jehož stÄ›ny tvoÃ…â"¢ily místo sklenÄ›ných tabulí ze dvou stran bÃ…â"¢ehy, dole písek, a nahoÃ…â"¢e nebe. A kolem dokola kvetly pomnÄ›nky a Ã…â"¢íkali vzpomínej.

No love could stand up against the sight of me in a sailor suit at the age of ten. I

The only thing that prevented a father's love from faltering was the fact that there was in his possession a photograph of himself at the same early age, in which he, too, looked like a homicidal fried egg. This proof that it was possible for a child, in spite of a rocky start, to turn eventually into a suave and polished boulevardier with finely chiselled features heartened him a good deal, causing him to hope for the best.

INTERVIEWER: Did you always know you would be a writer? WODEHOUSE: Yes, always. I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't remember what I did before that. Just loafed, I suppose.

What a gruesome mess you must have been at three,' said the Biscuit meditatively. 'You were bad enough at fourteen. At three you must have made strong men shudder.

Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood.

Child who does not play is not a child, but the man who does not play has lost forever the child who lived within him and who he will miss terribly

What weighs more heavily on the belt, sadness or memories? Where is the child I was, still inside me or gone? Why did we spend so much time growing up only to separate? Was it where they lost me that I finally found myself?

Começarei por dizer, sobre os dias e anos de minha infância, que meu único personagem inesquecível foi a chuva.

Dónde está el niño que yo fui, Sigue adentro de mí o se fue? Sabe que no lo quise nunca Y que tampoco me quería? Por qué anduvimos tanto tiempo Creciendo para separarnos? Por qué no morimos los dos Cuándo mi infancia se murió? Y si el alma se me cayó Por qué me sigue el esqueleto?

Dónde está el niño que yo fui, sigue dentro de mí o se fue? Sabe que no lo quise nunca y que tampoco me quería? Por qué anduvimos tanto tiempo creciendo para separarnos? Por qué no morimos los dos cuando mi infancia se murió? Y si el alma se me cayó por qué me sigue el esqueleto?

El pie del niño aún no sabe que es pie, y quiere ser mariposa o manzana. Pero luego los vidrios y las piedras, las calles, las escaleras, y los caminos de la tierra dura van enseñando al pie que no puede volar, que no puede ser fruto redondo en una rama.

The first half of life is learning to be an adult-the second half is learning to be a child.

my first attempts at lisping phrase and toddling step. These early triumphs, usually forgotten quickly, are yet a natural basis of self-confidence.

We children sat transfixed before that moon our mother had called forth from the waters. When the moon had reached its deepest silver, my sister, Savannah, though only three, cried aloud to our mother, to Luke and me, to the river and the moon, Oh, Mama, do it again! And I had my earliest memory.

If your parents disapprove of you and are cunning with their disapproval, there will never come a new dawn when you can become convinced of your own value. There is no fixing a damaged childhood. The best you can hope for is to make the sucker float.

My mother's voice and my father's fists are two bookends of my childhood, and they form the basis of my art.

As his children, we were treated as some species of migrant workers who happened to be passing through. My father was the only person I ever knew who looked upon childhood as a dishonorable vocation one grew out of as quickly as possible.

There are no verdicts to childhood, only consequences, and the bright freight of memory. I speak now of the sun-struck, deeply lived-in days of my past. I am more fabulist than historian, but I will try to give you the insoluble, unedited terror of youth. I betray the integrity of my family's history by turning everything, even sadness, into romance. There is no romance in this story; there is only the story.

If your parents disapprove of you and are cunning with their disapproval, there will never come a new dawn when you can become convinced of your own value. There is no fixing a damaged childhood.

As time passed from solstice to mild solstice in those occluded zones of my early childhood, I played beneath the distracted majesty of my mother's blue-eyed gaze. With her eyes on me I felt as if I were being studied by flowers.