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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

Childhood has no forebodings—but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow.

Youth, youth, springtime of beauty.

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

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

The young leading the young is like the blind leading the blind.