Childhood Quotes
I'm in my 40s and I'm constantly surprised by how much my childhood still plays a part in my life.
When you can identify the insecurities inside the person that is hurting you then you can begin to heal. It isn't about you. It is about their past.
There are miracles and glory in every child. Our glory lies in empowering them to flourish their glory.
When loneliness is a constant state of being, it harkens back to a childhood wherein neglect and abandonment were the landscape of life.
My father moved out a week later. I hugged him at our front door and couldn't bear to watch him leave with so much luggage.
Awakening your spiritual self is like having a second childhood with faulty parents, broken bones and proverbial brussel sprouts.
You go through so many changes as a child, then you grow up and discover that none of that stuff mattered, except for the impression it made on your mind.
Change is constant and always happening...The more flexible we are, the more we can benefit from life's changes that occurs.
Nothing is more foreign than the world of one's childhood when one has truly left it.
Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated. When it is ignored or invalidated the silent screams continue internally heard only by the one held captive.
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.
But the world hinges on good fathers and those who would be the merchants of confidence.
How much can you really trust the promise of a suicidal farther?
As a child I would play with such imagination that the ‘real’ world was never real at all. It was full of mystery, adventure and possibility.
I owe my first inkling of the problem of infinity to a large biscuit tin that was a source of vertiginous mystery during my childhood.
A child who grows up too closely aligned with adults assumes knowledge of a life she hasn’t yet experienced.
Healing from childhood abuse is not going mad, it is going sane.
When Uncle W. G. held out his hand to take my money, I dropped the dead mouse in his hand.
Looking at these people now from behind the counter, made her feel like that little girl again, the deprived child that used to press her nose on the glass, peering at things she could never have.
When the others were picked up and walked home by friends or fathers or best friend’s sisters, I was the kid in a grey hoodie, walking with the poets, the singers, the thinkers, and I was not alone.
Unable to help himself, he offered her a smile and stared into those eyes as he tapped his mouth. “I think you missed.
Childhood is the most valuable thing that's taken away from you in life, if you think about it.
In the dark, the little live Christmas tree, two feet tall, sparkled with tiny coloured lights, like the tears I saw glistening in my brother's eyes.
From New Year's Eve through the third of January, the streets of Tokyo grew quiet, as if all the people had disappeared.
A silence absorbed them both – a lack of sound so potent it blackened the place with something richer than hate.
This was me before I knew about anything hard, when my whole life was packed lunches and art projects and spelling quizzes.
The feelings resembled memories
I slipped on a turtleneck, laughing when my head became stuck in the turtle part. If they weren't called turtlenecks, I wouldn't have worn them.
Years later, I remember the waxy taste of the yellow paint, the papery taste of splintered wood, the sharp metallic of the graphite.
Childhood memories surge back more vividly midway through life – like some palimpsest whose original text suddenly reappears after the manuscript has been chemically treated.
A pure white puppy followed on the girl’s heels, barking, and the girl laughed in the breathless, drunken way of children as she ran into the hallway.
I'd had much practice turning my mind away from certain memories of my childhood. I could quickly dial her remembered voice from a whisper to a silence.
Everything was brighter and more colorful in those years, as if my childhood was ending in an explosion of unreal passion that made my life feel sacred and holy.
I drank, sucking the blood out of the holes, experiencing for the first time since infancy the special pleasure of sucking nourishment, the body focused with the mind upon one vital source.
When you are falling short in vocabulary to explain the emotion in your story.Than you are writing the right story
I guess I just grew up thinking that when we become adults, we get to do what we love. For work, for fun, forever. I don't know where I got that from. Seems silly now.
During childhood, it’s about trying to help develop who your kid’s going to be. During adolescence, it’s about responding to who your kid wants to be.
All fathers are liars . . . If you want to be a father, you have to be prepared to become a liar.
The reason any person yaks excessively is because his communication is not being adequately acknowledged. He just keeps trying to be heard.
A stodgy parent is no fun at all. What a child wants and deserves is a parent who is SPARKY
I remember the pain I felt, and wonder why a man who was such an accomplished liar had to tell the truth that day.
Although he never speaks of how or what or why, I know that his childhood was difficult, that his parents broke his heart. Books and excess poundage are his insulation against pain.
…because I was only eleven years old, I was wrapped in the best cloak of invisibility in the world.
The nutcracker sits under the holiday tree, a guardian of childhood stories. Feed him walnuts and he will crack open a tale...