#hood

Are we always to be wanting what isn't: the greenest grass accord and principle motherhood and career? Yet our age lies to us like an asp, whispering. "Both. ↗

— Barbara Crooker

#age

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

…because I was only eleven years old, I was wrapped in the best cloak of invisibility in the world. ↗

— Alan Bradley

#attitude #childhood #invisibility #noticeable #attitude

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

I didn’t know then that young girls were a sort of poison, infectious to the man of age; and that men of age justly take woman of age to cure themselves of the diseases of youth. ↗

— Roman Payne

#feminity #girls #life-experience #life-phases #manhood

This goes along with another belief of mine: that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise. ↗

— Margaret Atwood

#age

When faced with first time fatherhood at the age of 49, I didn’t know whether to celebrate with champagne… or hemlock. ↗

— Len Filppu

#parenting #age

Whenever someone brings up the traits associated with being a functional human otherwise known as an "adult," I think, is this even possible for me? Probably not, is what I conclude. I mean, I'll eventually pay off my college loans at the age of forty-five by selling what's left of my liver, and I'll probably manage to find sustenance and remember to breathe oxygen constantly. I'll survive. However, for people like me...There will be years of struggle to keep myself afloat. ↗

— Alida Nugent

#age

I do recall hearing a conversation in our home in Strausberg, between my mother and my father, where my mother sounded very angry that my cousin had let the Rödels down by having to be dragged out of Oma’s house, crying for his mother and shouting that he did not want to return to the war in Russia. Like a great many other soldiers throughout that period, he died in Russia on 5 May, 1944. He was just twenty years of age, and is buried somewhere in that country. ↗

— Alfred Nestor

#alfred-nestor #author-alfred-nestor #hitler #hitler-s-germany #nazi-party

Shortly before school started, I moved into a studio apartment on a quiet street near the bustle of the downtown in one of the most self-conscious bends of the world. The “Gold Coast” was a neighborhood that stretched five blocks along the lake in a sliver of land just south of Lincoln Park and north of River North. The streets were like fine necklaces and strung together were the brownstone houses and tall condominiums and tiny mansions like pearls, and when the day broke and the sun faded away, their lights burned like jewels shining gaudily in the night. The world’s most elegant bazaar, Michigan Avenue, jutted out from its eastern tip near The Drake Hotel and the timeless blue-green waters of Lake Michigan pressed its shores. The fractious make-up of the people that inhabited it, the flat squareness of its parks and the hint of the lake at the ends of its tree-lined streets squeezed together a domesticated cesspool of age and wealth and standing. It was a place one could readily dress up for an expensive dinner at one of the fashionable restaurants or have a drink miles high in the lounge of the looming John Hancock Building and five minutes later be out walking on the beach with pants cuffed and feet in the cool water at the lake’s edge. ↗

— Daniel Amory

#city #contemporary-fiction #contemporary-literature #downtown #lake