Children

Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day’s occupations, That is known as the Children’s Hour.

Don't force your children into your ways, for they were created for a time different from your own.

I THOUGHT I HATED EVERYBODY, BUT WHEN I GREW UP I REALISED IT WAS JUST CHILDREN I DIDN’T LIKE.

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years?

[ Responding to a woman contestant who, explaining why she had twenty-two children, said “because I love children, and I think that’s our purpose here on earth, and I love my husband” :] I love my cigar too, but I take it out of my mouth once in a while.

Abortions will not let you forget.

What shall I give my children? who are poor, Who are adjudged the leastwise of the land.

Abortions will not let you forget. You remember the children you got that you did not get.

anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

My sister and my sister’s child,

Someone once asked me whether I thought women artists should have children, and, since we were beyond discussing why this question is never asked of artists who are men, I gave my answer promptly. “Yes,” I said, somewhat to my surprise. And, as if to amend my rashness, I added: “They should have children— assuming this is of interest to them —but only one.” “Why only one?” this Someone wanted to know. “Because with one you can move,” I said. “With more than one you’re a sitting duck.”

Ten little Indians standing in a line— One went home, and then there were nine.

Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them. They must, they have no other models.

Kids are always the only future the human race has.

Parents are the bones on which children sharpen their teeth.

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,

When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments: tenderness for what he is, and respect for what he may become.

Child, you are like a flower, So sweet and pure and fair. I look at you, and sadness Touches me with a prayer.

I have often thought what a melancholy world this would be without children—and what an inhuman world, without the aged.

Study yr keeds. Kids. There are a lot of poems there. But don’t write about yr kids. Write about the human, what’s left of him, where he’s going, what he dropped on the floor .

And children swarmed to him like settlers. He became a land.

Sudden in a shaft of sunlight Even while the dust moves There rises the hidden laughter Of children in the foliage Quick now, here, now, always— Ridiculous the waste sad time Stretching before and after.

And always keep a-hold of Nurse

Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!