Childhood Quotes
You see, here's my theory: Kids chase the love that eludes them, and for me, that was my father's love. He kept it tucked away, like papers in a briefcase. And I kept trying to get in there.
Love may not be enough to wake a child in the morning, dress him, and get him to school, then to feed him at night, bathe him, and put him to bed. Still, can any of us imagine a childhood without it?
When childhood dies, its corpses are called adults and they enter society, one of the politer names of hell. That is why we dread children, even if we love them. They show us the state of our decay.
I wondered about my inner child. In fact, I was troubled. Did I even have an inner child, I asked myself, given that, in essence, I’d just been born?
If he could only prevent himself growing up! He did not want to be a man.
The older I get the more I enjoy my childhood…! ~James A. Murphy
The afternoon my parents died, I was out shoplifting with Irene Klauson.
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.
I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, As long as I'm livingmy baby you'll be.
Parts of my 20s and 30s have gone by in a flash but my childhood is with me all the time.
It’s not until you’re older that you realise how important the things that happened to you when you were a kid are. Even things you only half remember.
Games are for childhood, and sometimes I think I lost my childhood young.
I met Baba Yaga at the end of childhood – past pigtails and fairytales, but not quite ready to give up on make-believe.
He was, out of all sight (as I remember him), the nicest boy that ever spun a top or broke a window.
The poor lads called and called, but they were grown and had forgotten the best places to hide.
Polly had arrived in the world outraged to discover that her sisters had gotten there before her.
The world would be a brighter, happier place, if we could only remember our childhood wonder.
I fancy that most of those who think at all have done a great deal of their thinking in the first fourteen years.
We grew up in a place without a hint of love. Perhaps this was the single thing that bound us forever.
Being a child sucked. Being a teenager was worse. And being an adult seemed so far away that I had a better chance at swimming the length of the ocean than growing up.
Somehow, the days of summer with their glimmering enchantment of dancing ladybugs and sailing clouds had faded into grey. Maddie’s heart had somehow faded with it.
Whatever we know as children, this is the world, eaten whole and without question.
A child playing with its father screams louder, laughs harder, jumps more eagerly, puts more faith in everything.
And on some level it walways felt like kids paying at being grown
I try to cherish the moments I have, for I dread the day I get out of the tub and the wrinkles won't go away...
I lost something magical in the process of growing up – my disillusionment.
When I hear a man say that his childhood was the happiest time of his life, I think (puff) my friend, you have had a pretty poor life.
She looked at me for a second and said, "Oh, never mind. I guess it's true what Mom said? That you've led a sheltered life?"I said I thought the description fairly apt.
What a tremendous power one needs to become his own master!
... I wrote about ... my childhood, when dreams were small and attainable for all. When sweets were a penny and god was a rabbit.
I think I was very often bored as a child, but boredom is not what I knew it as—what I knew was that I worried a lot
We'll make an army in the trees and bring the earth and the people on it to their senses.
You're a kid, ' said Alexandra. 'There is no just about it. Only adults say just a kid and what the heck do they know about anything? Have you looked at their world lately?
Wait for me.” The words come out choked and pained. “I need you to wait for me.
No one told me you can love someone and still be miserable. How is that possible?
I love you, ” he says again, “and no other man will ever say those words and mean them the way I do.
Fine. Such a stupid word really. It feels empty and weightless. It’s the kind of word you use to hide the truth.
Perhaps this was the wisdom with which a child in her position survived: by minimizing her wounds—staying as small as possible, as nearly transparent as possible.
So I went back in time and told her how I liked the smell of soil after the rain. It has a special place in my heart. It reminds me of my childhood days. Days spent in happiness and tranquility.
Childhood anxieties, childhood fears, never disappear entirely. They fade, but not away.
Don’t even talk to me about being a mother. You were never a mother! Just the psychotic twat I lived with for the first fourteen years.
Traumatic experiences in early childhood may interfere with the child's ability to securely attach.
I guess I'd rather have a truthful neighbor who says he hates me than a lyin' one who claims he loves me.