Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

Most men employ the first years of their life in making the last miserable.

Grown up, and that is a terribly hard thing to do. It is much easier to skip it and go from one childhood to another.

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

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.

Bright youth passes as quickly as thought.

Ah, there are no children nowadays.

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

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

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

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

Even members of the nobility, let alone persons of no consequence, would do well not to have children.