Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

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

Blessed are the young, for they shall inherit the national debt.

Ah, there are no children nowadays.

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

Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

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

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.

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

Bright youth passes as quickly as thought.

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.

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

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