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

Childhood knows what it wants—to leave childhood behind.

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.

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

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

Ah, there are no children nowadays.

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 wise man ever wished to be younger.

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.

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

Bright youth passes as quickly as thought.