Youth (n.) is an end in itself, and not a stage.
Youth (n.) history in excess can cut off its strongest instincts at the root, its fire, defiance, unselfishness and love, and deprive it of its fairest privilege: to plant in itself belief in a great idea and let it grow greater.
Youth (n.) the young are like charcoal kilns — only once they have stopped glowing and are carbonized are they useful; and mankind burns individuals to heat machines whose only purpose is to be maintained.
Youth (n.) fathers, teachers and friends serve the young as a railing beside an abyss — not to hold on to, for it would collapse, but to give the eye a feeling of security.
Youth (n.) is a temporary alienation from our basic character: in old photographs the man resembles the child more than the youth.
Youth (n.) its voice is loud and hollow like a sound in a vault — its volume comes from the surrounding emptiness, an echo of what was said in its presence.
Youth (n.) alternate between devotion and impudence toward the same person because at bottom they are revering and despising only themselves.
Youth (n.) precocious merit forgets respect for age, excludes itself from what bestows maturity, and so stays green and boyish longer than others.
A Youth (n.) cannot bear that an older man lived through the same raptures once before — and grows hostile on hearing he must lose these blossoms to bear fruit.
Youth (n.) loves immaturely and immaturely hates mankind and earth; in a man there is more child than in a youth, and less melancholy.
Youth (n.) in an age of decay, is suffered like a serious sickness — we walk on ice already thin under the warm, uncanny breath of the thawing wind.