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

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

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 was born at a very early age. Before I had time to regret it, I was four and a half years old.

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 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.

Bright youth passes as quickly as thought.

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

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

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.

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.

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.