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

Bright youth passes as quickly as thought.

Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

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

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.

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

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

Ah, there are no children nowadays.

No time to marry, no time to settle down, I’m a young woman, and ain’t done runnin’ round.

The distinction between children and adults, while probably useful for some purposes, is at bottom a specious one, I feel. There are only individual egos, crazy for love.

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

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.

The young leading the young is like the blind leading the blind.