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

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 young leading the young is like the blind leading the blind.

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.

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

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

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

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.

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

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

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.

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