A Quote by C. S. Lewis

Children have one kind of silliness, as you know, and grown-ups have another kind. — © C. S. Lewis
Children have one kind of silliness, as you know, and grown-ups have another kind.
Everyone things children are sweet as Necco Wafers, but I've lived long enough to know the truth: kids are rotten. The only difference between grown-ups and kids is that grown-ups go to jail for murder. Kids get away with it.
I saw my parents as model grown-ups, and their manner, their silence, informed my sense of what adulthood looked and felt like. Grown-ups behaved rationally and calmly. Grown-ups worked during the day and came home at night and sat down for drinks and passed the evening quietly.
Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. Truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.
Children go from being a kind of cultural protectorate to the Junior Auxiliary of the tube-watching nation at large, and programs are designed for them on the same principle as they're designed for grown-ups: as a way to sell eyeballs to advertisers.
With no banal reassuring grown-ups present, with grown-up intervention taken away, there is no limit to the terror strange children feel of each other, a terror life obscures but never ceases to justify. There is no end to the violations committed by children on children, quietly talking alone.
Miles: Well, things are kind of complicated right now. When you’re a grown-up, you’ll understand. Jonah: I don’t want to be a grown-up. Miles: Why not? Jonah: Because grown-ups always say that things are complicated.
I say at the very end of "Winter Journal" that I do dream about my father often. I think I have a tremendous compassion for him, which has grown over the years. A certain kind of pity for him also in that he was so unrealised as a human being, so dogged, and so shut-off from people in many ways. You know, I've been writing another book, and it's another non-fiction autobiographical work, kind of a compliment to "Winter Journal", and it's just finished.
Children know so little, they must learn quickly to imitate grown-ups whenever they feel unsure in a situation.
Oh, grown-ups cannot understand, And grown-ups never will, How short the way to fairyland Across the purple hill.
Children know from a remarkably early age that things are being kept from them, that grown-ups participate in a world of mysteries.
It is only grown-ups who want children to be children; children themselves always want to be real people.
Only grown-ups think that the things children say come out of nowhere. We know they come from the deepest parts of ourselves.
We have this time to meet and do something, or just be together, and then we lose it and move to another kind of time, another kind of being, I guess. Those left behind must mourn, remember, and live on as we know.
Why do grown-ups think it's easier for children to bear secrets than the truth? Don't they know about the horror stories we imagine to explain the secrets?
Normally, after a movie, you know, you don't want to get up and do another one right away. That kind of pretend muscle or whatever you use making movies is kind of, you know, spent. And you have other things to do.
Children succeed when grown-ups care about them.
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