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

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.

Childhood has no forebodings—but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow.

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 leading the young is like the blind leading the blind.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.