Bright youth passes as quickly as thought.

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

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

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

The young man must store up, the old man must use.

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

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

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

No one’s serious at seventeen.

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.

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

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

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