Judy Blume Quotes

To some, the '50s were a decade marked by the banal, the predictable.

I am a product of the 1950s.

Some people would like the world to go back to the 1950s.

My generation had the best years. We missed the Second World War and caught the outburst of rock 'n' roll.

It captures a lot of the spirit of the '50s.

I'm drawn to that period, the '50s.

If I could take you back in time to the fifties and walk you around to some of the places where I grew up, you'd be trying to get back in your time machine. It wasn't all sock hops - matter of fact, I never saw a sock hop.

Though written in the 1970s, 'Falling Angel' is firmly set in 1959.

I think that I recall the nostalgic '50s: the start of early television and rock-and-roll, and I think everything seemed to get very generic. Not much has changed.

I wrote my first book without being to Ethiopia since I was two years old.

These are the fifties, you know. The disgusting, posturing fifties.

It is no accident that I made Cartoon Town a simple little village - in many ways it mirrored my home town. And, yes, many of my puppet characters took on some of the more eccentric characteristics of people I knew there.

The world loves the 1950s.

When I was a kid, for me, the '60s seemed so far away. But I was actually born in the late '60s.

There is a lot of my childhood in 'The Sandcastle Girls.'

I'd experienced the '40s and '50s by looking at my grandparents' old clothes, books, and magazines.

People who, like me, grew up in the 1950s and 1960s after World War II, grew up with cars.

I remember, when I was a kid in the '70s and '80s, the '50s were really cool. And then the '60s were really cool. And then the '70s.

The '50s were a secretive time.

It's funny: I don't feel like I have any particular privileged feeling for the Fifties.

Rock n' roll was a kid when I was a kid.

When I was a kid I was definitely into Neil Young.

Jasmine - it brings back memories of India with my parents.

I was born in the '50s - 1951. So I grew up during that part of the '50s when everything was supposed to be at its best in America, they claimed, and then eased into the '60s.

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold was the work of a wayward imagination brought to the end of its tether by political disgust and personal confusion. Fifty years on, I don't associate the book with anything that ever happened to me, save for one wordless encounter at London airport when a worn-out, middle-aged military kind of man in a stained raincoat slammed a handful of mixed foreign change on to the bar and in gritty Irish accents ordered himself as much Scotch as it would buy. In that moment, Alec Leamas was born. Or so my memory, not always a reliable informant, tells me.