Jennifer Damiano Quotes

I have now reached the happy age of 23. No, happy is not quite the right word. At this particular moment I am certainly not happy.

You are 27 or 28 right? It is very tough to live at that age. When nothing is sure. I have sympathy with you.

Twenty is a wonderful age for things to be sparked.

In this respect early youth is exactly like old age; it is a time of waiting for a big trip to an unknown destination. The chief difference is that youth waits for the morning limited and age waits for the night train.

In your mid-twenties, the paint is still wet on who you are.

At twenty-one, so many things appear solid, permanent, untenable.

Youth is a religion from which one always ends up being converted.

I'd been waiting to turn thirty my whole life. For some reason, when I was eleven, I was like, 'I know thirty's going to be good. Get through those twenties!'

I left for Madrid at 20 years old and I didn't really know how it would go.

When I was very young and the urge to be someplace was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch.

Young girls passed me with romance still in their eyes, and others, a little older, with the romance dead.

Almost any age is better than twenty-two.

Confusion is a luxury which only the very, very young can possibly afford and you are not that young anymore

You can't keep wanting to be 20 years old. Everybody knows that, but what's in the next room?

There's nothing worse than being an aging young person.

Were they beautiful? We were all beautiful. We were in our twenties.

The truth is, wherever you choose to be, it's the wrong place.

We live a pleasant life shopping at the Food Shoppe . . . taking the kids to the Weinery-Beanery, . . . and eating bran flakes . .. and then, with no warning, we wake up one morning stricken with middle age, full of loneliness, dumb, in pain. Our work is useless, our vocation is lost, and nobody cares about us at all. This is not bearable. In despair, we go do something spectacularly dumb, like run away with Amber the cocktail waitress, and suddenly all the women in our life look at us with unmitigated disgust.

I'm 47 now, and I'm at that stage where I'm still young but I'm not young. I'm not old but I'm getting old, and I have stuff at home that reminds me of people and places.

This middle age thing is a little weird. Some friends and mentors are gone, and there's a very forward-looking new generation coming up behind me. So it's very much finding my own place.

But youth isn't happy. Youth is sadder than age.

When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. I fear the disease is incurable.

My dear, we live in an age of transition.

I realize what a strange in-between place I am in. The Young Woman inside has turned to go, but the Old Woman has not shown up.

If you question any candid person who is no longer young, he is very likely to tell you that, having tasted life in this world, he has no wish to begin again as a "new boy" in another.