Ah, there are no children nowadays.

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

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

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

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

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

Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

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

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

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

A dissolute and intemperate youth hands down the body to old age in a worn-out state.

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

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.