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.

Ah, there are no children nowadays.

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

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

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

No wise man ever wished to be younger.

No one’s serious at seventeen.

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

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

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.

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.