I was between
A man and a boy, A hobble-de-hoy,
A fat, little, punchy concern of sixteen.

I was between
A man and a boy, A hobble-de-hoy,
A fat, little, punchy concern of sixteen.

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!

People grow old only by deserting their ideals, Macarthur had written. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up read more

People grow old only by deserting their ideals, Macarthur had written. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up interest wrinkles the soul. You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope as old as your despair. In the central place of every heart there is a recording chamber. So long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer and courage, so long are you young. When your heart is covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then, and then only, are you grown old. And then, indeed as the ballad says, you just fade away.

The chief recommendation [in a young man] is modesty, then
dutiful conduct toward parents, then affection for kindred.
read more

The chief recommendation [in a young man] is modesty, then
dutiful conduct toward parents, then affection for kindred.
[Lat., Prima commendiato proficiscitur a modestia tum pietate in
parentes, tum in suos benevolentia.]

Youth is the period in which a man can be hopeless. The end of every episode is the end of read more

Youth is the period in which a man can be hopeless. The end of every episode is the end of the world. But the power of hoping through everything, the knowledge that the soul survives its adventures, that great inspiration comes to the middle-aged.

Many people use their youth to make their old age miserable

Many people use their youth to make their old age miserable

Youth is a period of missed opportunities.

Youth is a period of missed opportunities.

It takes a long time to become young.

It takes a long time to become young.

Her years
Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs;
But there are forms which Time to touch read more

Her years
Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs;
But there are forms which Time to touch forbears.
And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things.