You are only young once, but you can be immature for a lifetime.
Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time.
From birth to age eighteen, a girl needs good parents. From eighteen to thirty-five, she needs good looks. From thirty-five to fifty-five, she needs a good personality. From fifty-five on, she needs good cash.
Common sense is the collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen.
At 19, everything is possible and tomorrow looks friendly.
Those whom the gods love grow young.
Money is appropriate, and one size fits all.
You know you are getting old when the candles cost more than the cake.
Youth has no age.
Each ten years of a man’s life has its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires.
Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live.
All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much.
And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.
May you live to be 100 and may the last voice you hear be mine.
I cried on my 18th birthday. I thought 17 was such a nice age. You’re young enough to get away with things, but you’re old enough, too.
Always act like you’re wearing an invisible crown, I do.
