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

Ah, there are no children nowadays.

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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

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.