Quotes About Childhood

and I always dream about meeting some mysterious person who will listen to me and understand me. I know from books that such people exist, but you can't find any of them on my childhood street.

Childhood is dark and it's always moaning like a little animal that's locked in a cellar and forgotten. It comes out of your throat like your breath in the cold, and sometimes it's too little, other times too big. It never fits exactly. It's only when it has been cast off that you can look at it calmly and talk about it like an illness you've survived.

A gyerekkor hosszú és sz?k, mint egy koporsó, és egyedül nem lehet kijutni bel?le.

Aikuisten lapsuus roikkuu repaleisena ja puhkottuna heidän sisimmässään kuin käytetty ja koinsyömä matto jota kukaan ei ajattele eikä tarvitse. Heistä ei näe että heillä on ollut lapsuus, eikä heiltä uskalla kysyä miten he käyttäytyivät päästäkseen sen läpi ilman että se jätti heidän kasvoihinsa syviä arpia ja jälkiä.

Ole iloinen, jos edes unessa saat elää lapsuuden keväät.

A legtöbb feln?tt azt mondja, hogy boldog gyerekkora volt, és talán még el is hiszik, de nekem aztán mondhatják. Szerintem csak sikerült elfelejteniük.

Englemos," sa sniff nonchalant. "Bare barnslig tøv." I hvert fall for alle som har sett i en stjernekikkert.

There one is safe. In a museum or in a lap or in a tree. Perhaps under the bedclothes. But the best thing of all is to sit high up in a tree, that is if one isn't still inside one's Mummy's tummy.

I'm still that little girl who lisped and sat in the back of the car and threw vegetables at the back of her head when we drove home from the market. That never goes.

one must walk a fine line between responding and rescuing. A baby whose parents respond becomes a secure child who's not afraid to venture forth. A baby whose parents continually rescue begins to doubt his own capabilities and never develops the strength and skills he needs to explore his world or to feel comfortable in it.

Just like the life In which I'm forever a child looking out my window at the night sky Thinking one day I'll touch the world with bare hands Even if it burns.

the life In which I'm forever a child looking out my window at the night sky Thinking one day I'll touch the world with bare hands Even if it burns.

Nicholas Benedict did have an exceptional gift for knowing things (more exceptional, in fact, than most adults would have thought possible), and yet not even he could know that this next chapter was to be the most unusual-and most important-of his entire childhood. Indeed, the strange days that lay ahead would change him forever, though for now they had less substance than the mist through which he ran.

One painting was of an observatory, the other of a boy on a bluff. Both featured starry skies—and both, Mr. Benedict had told them, were the work of a childhood friend.

Just picking her nose.

Rhonda patted Number Two's shoulder. "Number Two is a bit testy about this. She was often ignored as a child." "That doesn't change the truth!" Number Two snarled. "Easy now," said Rhonda. "Only teasing." "Sorry. Blood sugar's low," said Number Two, hastily unwrapping a granola bar.

from the shelf. Ben's stomach churned as he pulled out Cat in the Hat and Green Eggs and Ham. Kenzie would enjoy them, but had Marianna ever read those books before? Not that Dr. Seuss was literature. What

When I was still a piccanin she tutuzela'd me on her back, a back-to-front kangaroo. Snug in the hollow of her back, I felt her humming and singing seep into me." (from "Blood Orange: A Novel" by Troy Blacklaws)

I cherished her individuality, that spark of independence no child should lose to life's restrictions and parameters.

The true beloveds of this world are in their lover's eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.

As a child I experienced loss for what I felt was withheld from me: the delicious milk, the mountains of flowers I could not roll in, the cousins I could not play with, a beautiful house on a plateau. As the years grew with me, I became aware of absences that impacted me directly and indirectly: the loss of place, of stories, of family and of citizenship.

Mommy," Cliff called. "Mommy, I have to tell you something. Mommy! Grandma is kind of mean." "I know, sweetheart, don't worry," Ruby said.

Bumblebee when I named her! I'd like to see you come up with a better name at that age!" "Wordibird," Bumblebee said sleepily from her sling, and Cricket laughed again.

One morning shortly after Wren turned seven years old, her parents wrestled her into her best blue wool dress, pinned her down to oil her curly hair, and took her up the mountain to be eaten by a dragon.