A Quote by Willa Cather

youth, when it is hurt, likes to feel itself betrayed. — © Willa Cather
youth, when it is hurt, likes to feel itself betrayed.
I feel sad for him. Sad for the boy bound to the killer. I am sad for the youth betrayed by their leaders for symbols and flags and war and power.
The youth are hurt. Our majority are youth, under 30. They have no hope. They don't get jobs.
Man's own youth is the world's youth; at least he feels as if it were, and imagines that the earth's granite substance is something not yet hardened, and which he can mould into whatever shape he likes.
I think all women have a friend who at some point dumped them or betrayed them or deeply disappointed them. And at the same time all women have a friend who they dumped or betrayed or hurt in some way. That's universal in women's friendships.
In America, establishment politicians have betrayed our workers, they've betrayed our borders and, most of all, they've betrayed our freedoms.
There is no enemy can hurt us but by our own hands. Satan could not hurt us, if our own corruption betrayed us not. Afflictions cannot hurt us without our own impatience. Temptations cannot hurt us, without our own yieldance. Death could not hurt us, without the sting of our own sins. Sins could not hurt us, without our own impenitence.
Everybody likes music. And rock 'n' roll - that was the music that brought white youth and black youth together for the first time in American music history.
The working-class is now issuing from its hiding-place to assert an Englishman's heaven-born privilege of doing as he likes, and is beginning to perplex us by marching where it likes, meeting where it likes, bawling what it likes, breaking what it likes.
Who can know the heart of youth but youth itself?
Hard times don't necessarily mean being poor all the time. I've known people that was a part of a family and always feel that the family likes everybody else but them. That hurts and that's as deep a hurt as you can possibly get.
I feel like no-one likes a sob story. No-one likes to hear Moanie Margaret.
Releasing the invisible ties to those who have left you, betrayed you, disappointed you or hurt you, you open up to higher realms of love, peace and joy.
Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
A man likes to feel that he is loved, a woman likes to be told.
It is less painful, it turns out, to feel betrayed than to feel forgotten.
Who I am finally, if not the long silent part of someone, the secret and nocturnal part which has never betrayed itself in public by any thought, word, or deed, but communicates through subterranean depths of the imaginary with dreams as old as the world itself?
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