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

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

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.

Bright youth passes as quickly as thought.

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

Ah, there are no children nowadays.

No one’s serious at seventeen.

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

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.

Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

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.

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