#comin

So the first step out of childhood is made all at once, without looking before or behind, without caution, and nothing held in reserve. ↗

— Ursula K. Le Guin

#childhood #coming-of-age #earthsea #age

It’s not easy to be God. ↗

— Péter Zilahy

#coming-of-age #dark-humour #sacrifice #age

You understand. I don't know. I am not sure how I would feel in your shoes. My mother wanted me. ↗

— Donna K. Childree

#adventure-stories #coming-of-age-novel #the-wayward-gifted #age

What's good for you is not always best for you, and what's best for you is not always good for you. ↗

— B.S. Wood

#well-being #age

Sometimes, when you were thinking about something, trying to understand it, it opened up in your head without you expecting it to, like it was a soft spongy light unfolding, and you understood, it made sense forever… ↗

— Roddy Doyle

#coming-of-age #growing-up #paddy-clarke #roddy-doyle #age

Zachary smiles, and I wonder if he's felling different. Because standing out here waist deep in Gossimer Lake, next to my best friend, I'm feeling different-light and good and maybe even holy. ↗

— Kimberly Willis Holt

#deathr #friendship #spirituality #vietnam-wa #age

I was the ref. I was the ref they didn’t know about. Deaf and dumb. Invisible as a wall. I wanted no one to win ↗

— Roddy Doyle

#divorce-separation-children #age

I had come to the conclusion that everyone took sex far too seriously. I mean, it's only sex. ↗

— Chloe Thurlow

#romance #sexy #age

When I was twenty-something, I asked my father, “When did you start feeling like a grownup?” His response: “Never. ↗

— Shannon Celebi

#father #fathers #fathers-and-daughters #growing-up #life

They stood in the courtyard of Swangard Palace, too cold to be comfortable despite the sun, and they looked fully on one another, knowing that they were friends, and would always be. A lot of water under this bridge too, Mark thought, with something like awe. He was growing older. Old enough to feel the current of what had been flowing under him, leading to his future. Old enough to look back over his shoulder, and see his past behind him, and grieve for what was gone, and honour its memory. He felt, suddenly, how much it would hurt him if Val died; felt an echo of that pain, knowing that the Valerian he had known, fluffy and peering and hapless and altogether wonderful: this Valerian was already dying. Not physically, of course, but the man he remembered from that first night in Swangard Palace would be gone the next time they met, though his ghost would linger on in Val forever, and in their memories. Three cheers for ghosts, Mark thought. Three cheers for the dead. Of course Val would be much the same: better, even. As full of wonder and delight, with big pockets full of puzzles and fascinating stories about the lives of ants and ingenious designs for windmills that would do your washing. And they would still be friends, excellent friends. It could even be better next time. But it would never be the same. ↗

— Sean Stewart

#friendship #age