Best 4519 quotes in «growing up quotes» category

On the crossroads of future most good friends lose themselves to an eternity of regrets. Most of us lose connections unknowingly thinking that it is only natural until we realize the deceit in our understanding and end up craving for something we put to rest a long time ago. Thus begins a morbid curiosity within our conscience.

Or maybe memories are like karaoke - where you realize up on the stage, with all those lyrics scrawling across the screen's bottom, and with everybody clapping at you, that you didn't even know the lyrics to your all-time favourite song. Only afterwards, when someone else is up on stage humiliating themselves amid the clapping and laughing, do you realize that what you liked most about your favourite song was precisely your ignorance of its full meaning - and you read more into it than maybe existed in the first place. I think it's better not to know the lyrics to your life.

Otis Grows is a kid’s book that looks at adult problems. It playfully engages us all to consider: what’s tough, what’s inherent, but most of all, what’s possible.

Our Peter Pan generation is unhappy. All our lives, we want to grow up— to be treated like adults, to have freedom to choose. Then we get here and it turns out being an adult sucks. We pay the bills and taxes, watching others succeed while we are forever waiting for our turn. We believe we are special, but nothing special has come our way.

Our parents thought we might be corrupted by one another into becoming whatever it was they most feared: an incorrigible masturbator, a winsome homosexual, a recklessly impregnatory libertine. On our behalf they dreaded the closeness of adolescent friendship, the predatory behaviour of strangers on trains, the lure of the wrong kind of girl. How far their anxieties outran our experience.

Our parents are the worst for us, the most difficult to endure, precisely because they have the most intentions towards us. Hopes, dreams, needs for relationship. Acknowledgement.

Out of curiosity, when do I grow up and become a fullfledged man with a penis?” “When words like ‘hump day’ don’t make you giggle like a twelve-year-old,” he retorted, blowing smoke my way. “Wow, that long?

Parents are the most confused people - they urge us forwards into every next stage, but then hold us back if they transition becomes inconvenient. Grow up! Don't grow up so fast! What's the right speed? What's the right way?

Parents expect only two things from their children, obedience in their childhood and respect in their adulthood.

Part of me is afraid that everyone will laugh, that I’m a caricature of myself.

Part of growing up is narrowing your life choices to a manageable size.

People and friends come and go as we learn and grow.

People and birds were alike. Things happened that hurt them or made their lives harder. All the time. But losing someone or something important didn't mean the end of everything. It meant you had to find a new way to do things.

People keep asking what I do for a living and I keep saying that I don’t believe in making a living. That it’s a concept that has been twisted. I tell them I believe in making a life and money is a distracting object if there’s anything left at the end of the day and I just want to go on well. Make it through the day. So I smile and raise my glass and they laugh and take my hand, saying ”here’s to the youth”, pointing at me. And I might just be young and naive for I still believe in the freedom of choice of how to spend your life. So they toast to the youth, who still think she’s free, and that’s all fine by me.

Please your mother: just lie around upstairs and smoke some pot. Be a revolutionary.

Perhaps they never die at all. I quite believe that myself, and it is a comfort, don't you think? That there is a place where no one ever grows old?

Please do not blame the story. The story cannot help itself. We do not realize it at the time, but sometimes the story we are all a part of is not just a story about Vikings and islands and dragons. It is a story about growing up. And one of the things about growing up, one of the inescapable, inevitable laws, is that one day... One day... one day... It is going to happen. I am sorry, but it's true.

Please… Whoever you are, whatever you are… I believe in you even though I don’t completely understand you. I feel you around me even though I can’t exactly describe what I’m feeling. Sometimes things happen to me and I know that you’re there and I’m humbled by the lack of coincidence that exists in the world. Whatever you want from me, it’s yours — just please help me. You know how I get when I lose control, and I find myself constantly being pulled back there these days.

Perhaps I just wanted to know what it was that I wanted. Maybe that is all that growing up means.

Plans never go as planned, ever; that’s just how life is. People spend way too much time dreaming about a future they should be having more nightmares warning them against. But that doesn't mean you should let those bad dreams scare you away; all those nightmares want is respect. If you give them that, they’ll give you the space you need. Unless, of course, they’re the type of nightmares that have an appetite, then you’re fucked.

Puberty. The word itself sounded like a half-digested lump of rubber.

Pronto comenzamos a dudar de la cigüeña de París, de dónde somos y cómo hemos llegado hasta aquí. Nos perdemos en el terreno de responsabilidades, el Coco no está, nos dormimos tranquilos, terminan los infantilismos, y con ellos, los gusanos de seda. Nos parten la corona de papel albal, aprendemos a despedirnos y dejamos de tirarnos por el tobogán.

Quand viendrait Kardys, il se promit d’aider le grand homme à ranger tout le bois. « Je suis resté trop longtemps à lire, se jugea-t-il, j’ai négligé de forger mon corps. Si je dois un jour être un vrai épieur d’ombre, il me faut être plus fort. » Il se jugeait sévèrement, comme beaucoup de jeunes de son âge.

Q: I want to be an author when I grow up. Am I insane?" Neil Gaiman: "Yes. Growing up is highly overrated. Just be an author." [Jumbo.com, 21 August 2012]

Relax. You will become an adult. You will figure out your career. You will find someone who loves you. You have a whole lifetime; time takes time. The only way to fail at life is to abstain.

Raising our sons is among the most important social imprints we will leave on the world, for they will become the partners, husbands, fathers, friends, lovers, creators, and leaders of tomorrow.

Realizing that many you once thought the world of are nothing but glorified assholes means you've grown up.

Recalling his first dreams of flight when he was a small child, Max acknowledged that his entire existence had been building up to this tipping point where he could finally choose to release his self-imposed limitations.

Rejections will redirect you to more exciting roads. When you think your life is falling apart, it’s usually falling together in disguise. Your search will throw you on journeys you never would have dreamt of, in your mind and in the world.

Remember, it’s still a mystery to be an adult. If you knew it all before eighteen, you’d have nothing to look forward to. Besides, to be wise and eighteen is as possible as catching lightning in a bottle…

Reading all my old love letters was disorienting. You remember thinking the thoughts and writing the words but, man, you can't TOUCH those feelings. Its like they belonged to someone else. Someone you don't even know. I'm aware, in an intellectual way. That I felt all those things about him, but this emotions are far away now. What's so strange to me is that I can't even force my heart back to that place where I felt that all consuming passion. That makes me feel distant from myself. Who WAS I then? Will I ever be able to get back to that place? Reading the letters again made me wonder: Which is the real me? The one who saw the world in that emotionally saturated way, or the me who sees it the way I do now?

Recognize that you have been chosen to be alive, right now, at this exact moment in time and know that none of that is random. There is something about you, your past or your future that is required at this exact moment in history. We need to know who you are and what you have been through.

Remember, it's still a mystery to be an adult. If you knew it all before eighteen, you'd have nothing to look forward to.

Remember, nothing happens before it’s supposed to, so trust that, as you are striving for authenticity and personal excellence, the recognition of your life’s purpose is nearing closer.

Responsibilities don't yield to melancholy.

Release- For years they told you to sit. Stay. Now they open the door and tell you to get up. Leave. Where do you go with no one to show you the way?

Sadness at that age had the pleasing texture of imprisonment: you reared and sulked against the bonds of parents and school and age, things that kept you from the certain happiness that awaited. When I was a sophomore in college, I had a boyfriend who spoke breathlessly of running away to Mexico - it didn't occur to me that we could no longer run away from home.

Sandra stood by, quietly amused: she wore a sugar pink track suit with matching plastic hairslides in the shape of elephants. Edward could see quite clearly behind her shoulder, like the aura visible to spiritualists, the woman she would be in thirty years time. There is probably nothing to be done about people, he thought, nothing at all, nor ever has been: processed, from the cradle to the grave. Most neither know nor care, which makes it worse.

Sara couldn't help but think that she had somehow missed the moment when life was meant to begin. For a long time she had simply drifted through it, reading. While everyone around her was teenaged, unhappy, and foolish, this hadn't been a problem. But then suddenly everyone had grown up around her, and she had done nothing but read.

Selena was born in a generation that had grown up on the edge. She’d grown up knowing that the little child starlet who voiced Anne-Marie on 'All Dogs Go to Heaven', Judith Barsi, had been murdered and set on fire by her own father. She’d grown up knowing that school shootings were more common than winning the lottery. She’d grown up in an age of terror.

Seasons turned, apple blossoms blushed and withered, fruit swelled and dropped, snow fell and melted, and children grew to bear children of their own, to make mistakes of their own, to love and hate and fear on their own, to die by hunger, by volence, by the lure of the wider world. Promises were made, hearts were broken, and people twisted themselves around and around and around, the soft green tendrils of their dreams hardening into woody vines that could not bend but would some day break.

She’d always pictured her future self as a lone wolf traveling around the world, ensnaring romantic conquests and achieving her wildest and most ambitious goals. She didn’t think that at nineteen she would be so dependent on other people; she pictured herself as an autonomous and untouchable force that occasionally flitted back home to show off her new feathers before flying away to her life that was much more exciting than theirs.

Seniority has nothing to do with intellectuality, your individuality wins the majority or minority, simply because you maintained the status quo of your peculiarity.

She knew him in that way you can only know a person as a child. Like if you cracked away the adult shell, you'd find that child, happily sitting inside, smiling at you.

She had gills while other people were breathing with lungs. There was, however, no point in dwelling on it, as it was too later to grow up differently.

She had the feeling, the tingling, lingering sense that something or someone life altering was just over the horizon. She had no idea what it was, but she wanted to rush headlong to bring it to her.

She isn't like any of the girls I ever knew, or any of the girls I was myself.

She kissed me on the cheek, and my mom sang Theresa’s name from the open front door. She loves Theresa. I think she loves me more when I’m with her.

She logged in and read a few of her old posts, smiling at the issues she had raged about and shaking her head at how some of the rants now seemed pretentious and judgmental. She had grown so much without even realizing she had. Mythili typed out the draft, spicing it up subtly and after a last read, she published it. Admiring the brand new post on her main page, she realized she missed writing. She had barely written anything since her last by-line. Typing this out, she felt like she was back with a long-lost friend who understood her. It was like snuggling up in a warm blanket when a thunderstorm raged outside.

She looked stunned. “I feel like I don't know you anymore.” “You never did,” I replied, just as coolly. “You were always too busy thinking about who you would like me to be that you never thought to ask who I actually was.