Youth Quotes
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Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.
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A youth, when at home, should be filial, and, abroad, respectful to his elders.
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It is cremated youth. It is all yours--no one gave it to you.
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Now that Obama's president, it changes inner-city youths. They can now not just dream to be Lil Waynes and 50 Cents, but they can now dream to be Obamas.
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I thought no more was needed Youth to prolong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. O who could have foretold That the heart grows old?
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Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.
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youth, when it is hurt, likes to feel itself betrayed.
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Which of us that is thirty years old has not had its Pompeii? Deep under ashes lies the life of youth--the careless sport, the pleasure and the passion, the darling joy.
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In my youth I thought I was going to be a professional rugby player.
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Youth is the future smiling at a stranger, which is itself.
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This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendor Fades from the skies when the sun sinks to sleep.
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A youth is to be regarded with respect.
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For the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life.
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As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
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Seeing the show is like a visit to the fountain of youth for parents and the children.
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I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting
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One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.
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He wears the rose Of youth upon him.
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The fountain of youth is like the monkeys paw in the W. W. Jacobs story. It never ends well.
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Good Charlotte, for us, comes from a place of youth for us, back when we were struggling and fighting for every inch, just trying to get by.
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What does the money machine eat? It eats youth, spontaneity, life, beauty, and, above all, it eats creativity. It eats quality and sh*ts quantity.
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All things can tempt me from this craft of verse: One time it was a woman's face, or worse-- The seeming needs of my fool-driven land; Now nothing but comes readier to the hand Than this accustomed toil.
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The spirit of hope gives him life As a star offers its rays. Dead, he returns to the country of his youth searching for his love's face.
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This self now as I leant over the gate looking down over fields rolling in waves of colour beneath me made no answer. He threw up no opposition. He attempted no phrase. His fist did not form. I waited. I listened. Nothing came, nothing. I cried then with a sudden conviction of complete desertion. Now there is nothing. No fin breaks the waste of this immeasurable sea. Life has destroyed me. No echo comes when I speak, no varied words. This is more truly death than the death of friends, than the death of youth.
