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

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

Bright youth passes as quickly as thought.

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.

There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy’s life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

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.

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.

Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

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

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.

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