Best 2381 quotes in «childhood quotes» category

If he could only prevent himself growing up! He did not want to be a man.

If I'd been a cowboy, it might've ended well. Somewhere on the ramble, I'm sure I'd have to sell My guns along the highway. My coins to the table To make a gambler's double, I'd double debts to pay. Prob'ly shrink and slink away, It mightn't've ended well. What If I'd been a sailor? I think it might've ended well. From August to May For a searat of man drifting through eternal blue, aboard the finest Debris. I might've called the shanties. From daybreak to storm's set, lines stay Taught, over rhythm unbroken. But, oh, there's a schism unspoken, a mighty calling of the lee. An absentminded Pirate, unaccustomed to the sea; To the land, a traitor. I think it mightn't've ended well. What might've worked for me? What might've ended well? Soldier, to bloody sally forth through hell? Teacher of glorious stories to tell? Man of gold, or stores to sell? Lover to a gentle belle? Maybe a camel; A seashell. What mightn't've been a life where it mightn't've ended well?

I finally made friends with my father when I entered my twenties. We had so little in common when I was a boy, and I am certain I had been a disappointment to him. He did not ask for a child with a book of its own world. He wanted a son who did what he had done: swam and boxed and played rugby, and drove cars at speed with abandon and joy, but that was not what he had wound up with.

If nature was your good friend when you were a child, you must then know that you it will remain your good friend till the end of your life!

If nobody teaches us the words, the thoughts, we stay ignorant. If nobody shows a little child, two, three years old, how to look for the way, the signs of the path, the landmarks, then it gets lost in the mountain, doesn't it? And dies in the night, in the cold.

If somewhere deep within me arises some essence of having been a child, one I never experienced, perhaps the purest childness of my childhood, I don’t want to know it. Without even looking, I want to form an angel out of it and hurl him into the foremost rank of screaming angels, to remind God.

If we had to earn our age by thinking for ourselves at least once a year, only a handful of people would reach adulthood.

If we loved children, we would have a few. If we had them, we would want them as children, and would love the wonder with which they behold the world, and would hope some of it might open our eyes a little. We would love their games, and would want to play them once in a while, stirring in ourselves those memories of play that no one regrets, and that are almost the only things an old man can look back on with complete satisfaction. We would want children tagging along after us, or if not, then only because we would understand that they had better things to do.

If we truly detach from our childhood and abandon our inherent romanticism, then we shred any bit of humanity left in us.

If you are lucky enough to have a childhood friend, try your hardest to grow old with them. These friends are a unique, irreplaceable breed. These friends lived through curfews and Polaroid pictures with you. These friends know your parents and siblings because they had to call your house first to speak with you. Your memories are not frozen in time on social media, but live on nonetheless. Most importantly, they remember the person you were before the world got ahold of you, so they have this crazy ability to love you no matter what. They are the living, breathing reflection of where you have been. And so, just when you think you’ve lost yourself for good, they are there to bring you face-to-face with your true self, simply by sharing a cup of coffee with them. As your world grows and becomes larger and more complicated than your backyard, even if you establish a life elsewhere, I hope your childhood friends remain lifelong allies, because mine have saved my life on more than one occasion.

If you can’t find any fun during childhood, you naturally won’t look for it as you grow up to maturity. You will grow ‘hard,’ and look upon fun as foolish. Also, if you don’t furnish fun for a child, don’t look for it to grow up bright, happy and loving. So, always put in a child’s path an opportunity to watch, talk about, and know, as many good things as you can.

If You Want To Learn About LOVE,Happiness And Joy, Please Go To Your Childhood and Learn.

If you want to breed something, breed bravehearts, not soulless racehorses.

If your child is constantly interrupting or doing other things to get your attention, he is not getting enough communication of the right kind. Just the fact that you are in the house with him all day does not mean that you are necessarily devoting any time to com- munication of his choice.

I glanced in the first open door and stopped short. Desks. Four tiny desks. A wall of faded posters of alphabet animals. A blackboard, still showing the ghost of numbers. I blinked, certain I was seeing wrong. Derek nudged my legs, telling me to get moving. I looked at him, and I looked at the classroom. This was where Derek had grown up. Four tiny desks. Four little boys. Four young werewolves. For a second, I could see them—three boys working at the three clustered desks, Derek alone at the fourth, pushed slightly away, hunched over his work, trying to ignore the others. Derek nudged me again, whining softly, and I looked down to see him eyeing the room, every hair on his neck on end, anxious to get away from this place.

Ignoring a baby’s cries without addressing their needs can permanently harm them. All of these failures may lead a child to have post-traumatic stress disorder or any of the forms of panic disorder in their adulthood.

I hated Sundays as a kid. From the moment I woke up, I could feel Monday looming, could feel another school week all piled up and ready to smother me. How was I supposed to enjoy a day of freedom while drowning in dread like that? It was impossible. A pit would form in my chest and gut—this indescribable emptiness that I knew should be filled with fun, but instead left me casting about for something to do. Knowing I should be having fun was a huge part of the problem. Knowing that this was a rare day off, a welcome reprieve, and here I was miserable and fighting against it. Maybe this was why Fridays at school were better than Sundays not in school. I was happier doing what I hated, knowing a Saturday was coming, than I was on a perfectly free Sunday with a Monday right around the corner.

I had heard my brothers and sisters use curse words but had never dared use one myself in front of anyone. But I had practiced alone in my room lots of times, trying out different cadences and into nations: 'Fuck, fuck, fuck you, fucknut. Shit, shitstain, fucker! Go fuck a duck, you asswipe!' My favorite was, 'What a fucking cocksucker.' The plan was to say this casually to one of my new friends while one of our teachers walked by. No one in kindergarten ever really got my sense of humor, so I was hell-bent on making my mark in the first grade.

I have such a hopeless dream of walking or being there at night, nothing happens, I just pass, everything is unbearably over with.

I have found that Lost World in the Lost and Found Columns whose gray illegible advertisements My soul has memorized world after world: LOST - NOTHING. STRAYED FROM NOWHERE. NO REWARD.

I have grown up listening to my grandparents’ stories about ‘the other side’ of the border. But, as a child, this other side didn’t quite register as Pakistan, or not-India, but rather as some mythic land devoid of geographic borders, ethnicity and nationality. In fact, through their stories, I imagined it as a land with mango orchards, joint families, village settlements, endless lengths of ancestral fields extending into the horizon, and quaint local bazaars teeming with excitement on festive days. As a result, the history of my grandparents’ early lives in what became Pakistan essentially came across as a very idyllic, somewhat rural, version of happiness.

I have heard it said that a happy childhood is a curse, because what follows can never measure up. All I can say is, those people must want too much; they can't accept that life is a series of struggles and that happiness can be found in overcoming them, drawing strength from the reserves laid down in the good years.

If ifs and buts were candies and nuts we'd all have a very Merry Christmas, I heard my aunt Diane boom in my head. Those words had been the bane of my childhood, a constant reminder that nothing turned out right, not just for me but for anyone, and that's why someone had invented a saying like that. So we'd all know that we'd never have what we needed.

I hope you never seek validation from others in any aspect of your life I hope you are confident in your desires and remain true to your personal passions I hope you cling to wonder and curiosity I hope you recognize your power to manifest an intentional and tranquil life I hope you are capable of being happy for others I hope you understand that gratification is fleeting, as is every emotion and moment I hope you find peace in simplicity I hope you transform this world, but do not become lost in the trend

I kept myself to myself in the early years. I walked around and around the playground pretending to scale great mountain ranges or horizontal marshlands. In the summer months I sat beneath a sycamore tree on the edge of the school field. I collected insects in my hands only to release them at the end of playtime or lunch hour. Daddy asked me if I wanted an insect collecting set for my birthday or some jars to put them in to and take them home but I said I did not. I liked having them in my hands for that certain amount of time then letting them go off again into the undergrowth, back to their homes and to their lives. I would think about them living those lives while I sat back in my chair in the classroom and gazed blankly at times-tables.

I knew that the tears of adults were wetter, saltier, and much, much sadder than those of a child

I know how syrupy this sounds, how dull, provincial, and possibly whitewashed, but what can I do? Happy childhoods happen

I know nothing about her. Just some books, and some stories she tried to tell me, and things I didn't understand, and I remember big red soft hands and that smell. I never knew who she really was. I mean, she must have been nine too, once.

I liked all the children in my class. Back then, I think we all just tacitly assumed that we were equal. That we were all in the same boat. We didn’t really think about our different genders, races or classes. We just co-existed, like one big family.

I learned about religion the way most children learned about sex, [in the schoolyard]. . . . They terrified me by telling me there was a dead man in the sky watching everything I did and I retaliated by explaining where babies came from. Some of their mothers phoned mine to complain, though I think I was more upset than they were: they didn't believe me but I believed them.

I liked numbers because they were solid, invariant; they stood unmoved in a chaotic world. There was in numbers and their relation something absolute, certain, not to be questioned, beyond doubt.

I like the smell of my Grandma's soap - I used to sit in the bath and eat it.

I listened, while the scents found their hiding places in the cracks in the floorboards, and the words of the story, and the rest of my life.

I loathe my childhood and all that remains of it. Jean-Paul Sartre, Words

I liked to be off by myself, away from the eyes of adults who always had some task or errand to demand of an unoccupied child.

I lived between my music and books, on the whole a rather unwholesome life for a boy to lead. I dwelt in a world of imagination, of dreams and air castles--the kind of atmosphere that sometimes nourishes a genius, more often men unfitted for the practical struggles of life.

I lost something magical in the process of growing up – my disillusionment.

I looked out the window and saw the street and railroad tracks, the woods beyond. Beyond the woods, the county of which they were a part. And so on, until it all dissolved into the larger thing: my mother's house becoming every other house as I once had seen it, sitting atop the southern end of a broad river valley, close enough to the the mountains that every few years a scared black bear would wander down into the remaining forest, and close enough to the ocean that those early English settlers took it as the farthest point they'd go upstream, the geology of the place preventing them from having any choice other than the one wherein they said, "We are lost; therefore we will call this home." And close enough that as a child I had been teased by older kids who said if I only tried hard enough I would smell salt water, and I, believing, stood among the light poles and the gulls in the parking lots of A&Ps and cried when I knew that it was true despite the fact that they had meant to lie, as children sometimes do.

I love to help children's souls shine.

I'm going to tell you something important. Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. The truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world." ... I wonderes if that was true: if they were all really children wrapped in adult bodies, like children's books hidden in the middle of dull, long adult books, the kind with no pictures or conversations.

Il se laissait assoupir dans des odeurs de camphre et d'amandiers. Parfois, dans le calme de la nuit, il éprouvait la nostalgie du passé. Quand on évoquait devant lui l'adolescent rêvant à de fabuleux trésors, croyant à un destin extraordinaire, il ne se reconnaissait pas dans ce portrait. Il lui fallut beaucoup de temps avant de prêter à ces moments d'égarement les audaces délicieuses de la jeunesse.

Imagine, pretend, and play so you can become anyone you want to be. You don't need to be afraid.

I may be a little like the grown-ups. I must have grown old.

I meditated on my childhood, vague and distant before high school, where Laura still flickered only on the edge of things.

I miss those childish days of long ago, when one day was as long as twenty are now ...

I met Baba Yaga at the end of childhood – past pigtails and fairytales, but not quite ready to give up on make-believe.

I'm in my 40s and I'm constantly surprised by how much my childhood still plays a part in my life.

I missed my mother and Elysius. It wasn't that I wanted them with me at that very moment. I wanted them in the past. I wanted to have back just one sunny afternoon together.

I'm not going to have a husband anyway," said Laura. "I'm going to live by myself in the garage.

I mostly felt fortunate, to have lived here, in this house, in this town, with this family and these parents, and tried to think of all the things that had influenced me along the way.