I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

Youth is the time to go flashing from one end of the world to the other both in mind and body, to try the manners of different nations, to hear the chimes at midnight.

I was born at a very early age. Before I had time to regret it, I was four and a half years old.

The boy is, of all wild beasts, the most difficult to manage. 

Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

The young man must store up, the old man must use.

The thing that impresses me most about America is the way parents obey their children.

A sick child is always the mother’s property; her own feelings generally make it so.

Rejoice, young man, while you are young, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth. Follow the inclination of your heart and the desire of your eyes, but know that for all these things God will bring you into judgment.

The young always have the same problem—how to rebel and conform at the same time. They have now solved this by defying their elders and copying one another.

I’ve never understood why people consider youth a time of freedom and joy. It’s probably because they have forgotten their own.