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.

No one’s serious at seventeen.

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

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

Rejoice, young man, while you are young, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth. Follow the inclination of your heart and the desire of your eyes, but know that for all these things God will bring you into judgment.

Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

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

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

The distinction between children and adults, while probably useful for some purposes, is at bottom a specious one, I feel. There are only individual egos, crazy for love.

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

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

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

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