youth is not a time of life - it is a state of mind. it is not a matter of ripe cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a temper of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of emotion! it is a freshness of the deep springs of life.
it means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over love of ease.
nobody grow old by merely living a number of years; people grow old by deserting their ideals
worry, doubt, self-distrust, fear and despair - these are the long, long years that bow the head and turn the growing spirit back to dust.
whether seventy, or sixteen, there is in every being’s heart the love of wonder, the sweet amazement at the stars and the starlike things and thoughts, the undaunted challenge of events, the unfailing child-like appetite for what’s next, and the joy and the game of life.
you are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair.
in the central place of your heart, there is a wireless station; so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage, grandeur and power, so long you are young.
“I wrote “Their Eyes Were Watching God” in Haiti. It was dammed up in me, and I wrote it under internal pressure in seven weeks. I wish that I could write it again. in fact, I regret all of my books. It is one of the tragedies of life that one cannot have all the wisdom one is ever to possess in the beginning. Perhaps, it is just as well to be rash and foolish for a while. If writers were too wise, perhaps no books would be written at all. It might be better to ask yourself “Why?” afterwards than before. Anyway, the force from somewhere in Space which commands you to write in the first place, gives you no choice. You take up the pen when you are told, and write what is commanded. There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.”—Zora Neale Hurston, Dust Tracks on a Road (via whereissassy)