Age Metaphors, Analogies and Similes
We are all tattooed in our cradle with the beliefs of our tribe, the record may seem superficial, but it is indelible.
In our mother's womb we are close prisoners all.
As unrealistic as wanting your baby teeth back.
People who say they sleep like a baby, usually don't have one.
A two year old is like a blender that you don't have a lid for.
Children are messages to us from a world we once knew.
Children are like wet cement. Whatever falls on them makes an impression.
A sleeping child gives the impression of a traveller in a very far country.
One child makes you a parent; two makes you a referee.
Anyone can have one kid. But going from one kid to two is equivalent to going from owning a dog to running a zoo.
Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life.
She who forms the souls of the young is greater than any painter or sculptor.
The rapid point departure when a girl slips behind the glass curtain of pre-adolescence.
Young men are inclined to think themselves wise enough, as drunken men are apt to think themselves sober enough.
Teenage boys, goaded by surging hormones run in packs like primal hordes. They are in a brief season of exhilarating liberty between control by their mothers and control by their wives.
Difficult teenagers are a one-way street: they demand respect in their direction but do not give respect to others.
Direct your efforts more to prepare youth for the path, and less to prepare the path for youth.
Young people are in a condition like permanent intoxication, because youth is sweet and they are growing.
Youth is a disease from which we all recover.
Don't laugh at a youth for his affectations; he only tries on one face after another to find his own.
You speak profane language as predictably foul as teenage gangs that urban streets spawn - adolescents who show off the first flush of manhood.
Age 12.9 Keri's language was as clean as a freshly-veiled nun; age 13.1 it was as mucky as a leper's armpit.
Telling a teenager the facts of life is like giving a fish a bath.
Everybody's youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness.
If you want children to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibility on their shoulders.
Boyhood, like the measles, is one of those complaints which a man should catch young and have done with, for when it comes in middle life it is apt to be serious.
At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look, at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.
The youth of a Nation are the trustees of posterity.
Youth, like travel, is glamorous only in retrospect.
Middle age flies over an Atlantic Ocean of work having forgotten the youthful continent it has left, and ignorant of the bumpy old landing ahead.
As middle aged as to snigger at how young people dress.
He is still attached by one boot to the steer of his mid-life crisis.
Every step we take in life we find the ice getting thinner beneath our feet, and all around us and behind us we see our contemporaries going through.
Many a good tune is played on an old fiddle.
The older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune.
Just because there's snow on the roof, doesn't mean the boiler's gone out.
Age brings along with him a terrible artillery.
Old age is like climbing a mountain. You climb from ledge to ledge. The higher you get, the more tired and breathless you become – but your views become more extensive.
Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years. People grow old by deserting their ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up interest wrinkles the soul.
Growing old is like being increasingly penalised for a crime you haven't committed.
The grumpy old man's life consists more and more of being told, at dictation speed, what he already knew.
The denunciation of the young is a necessary part of the hygiene of older people, and greatly assists the circulation of their blood.
Most men in years are generally discouragers of youth, like old trees being past bearing themselves, will suffer no young plants to flourish beneath them.
The closing years of life are like the end of a masquerade party, when the masks are dropped.
With sixty staring in the face, I have developed inflammation of the sentence structure and definite hardening of the paragraphs.
It's true, some wine improves with age. But only if the grapes were good in the first place.
You know you're old when your back goes out more than you do.
The impatient, lean, young adults of 1947 with their imperial convictions or socialist beliefs are still around us: drugged-up in wheelchairs, spavined, hidden in care homes.
I'm sorry they didn't teach history when you were at school, obviously, because history hadn't been invented back then.
Our brains are seventy year clocks, the Angel of Life winds them up once for all, then closed the case and gives the key to the Angel of Resurrection.
When we die, we transfigure into the hearts of those who remember us. They then carry us around with them.
I join the choir invisible of those immortal dead who live again in minds made better by their presence.
Men fear Death, as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other.
In a car anyone driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a moron; similarly, every generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than it's antecedents, and wiser than it's descendants.
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