The "18/40/60" rule to happiness: At age 18, people care very much about what others think of them. By age 40, they learn not to worry what others think. By age 60, they figure out that no one was thinking about them in the first place.
Common sense is the collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen.
At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.
The time not to become a father is eighteen years before a war.
I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.
Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen.
Mom and Pop were just a couple of kids when they got married. He was eighteen, she was sixteen and I was three.
Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.
Men reach their sexual peak at eighteen. Women reach theirs at thirty-five. Do you get the feeling that God is playing a practical joke?
But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?
I have the body of an eighteen year old. I keep it in the fridge.
Common sense is nothing more than a deposit of prejudices laid down by the mind before you reach eighteen.
For us lads of eighteen they ought to have been mediators and guides to the world of maturity, the world of work, of duty, of culture, of progress -- to the future.
I mean, Eighteen years old is the age of consent in Europe and you can go anywhere and do anything you like. In America, it is dumb. At eighteen you should be able to do anything that you like, except get married.
You're only young once, but you can be immature forever.
All Quiet on the Western Front.
When I began writing science fiction in the middle 60s, it seemed very easy to find ideas that took decades to percolate into the cultural consciousness; now the lead time seems more like eighteen months.
When you're seventeen or eighteen, you bomb on in pre-season immediately, try to impress. But then at the end of pre-season because you were so fast at the beginning, your times aren't getting any better and it looks like you actually aren't getting fitter.
It seems to me that the years between eighteen and twenty-eight are the hardest, psychologically. It’s then you realize this is make or break, you no longer have the excuse of youth, and it is time to become an adult – but you are not ready.
But you're almost eighteen. You're old enough. Everyone else is doing it. And next year someone is going to say to someone else 'but you're only sixteen, everyone else is doing it' Or one day someone will tell your daughter that she's only thirteen and everyone else is doing it. I don't want to do it because everyone else is doing it.
It was not an eventful day. I should have done extraordinary things. I should have sucked the marrow out of life. But on that day, I slept eighteen hours out of a possible twenty-four.
Everyone wanted to believe that endless love was possible. She'd believed in it once too, back when she was eighteen. But she knew that love was messy, just like life. It took turns that people couldn't foresee or even understand, leaving a long trail of regret in its wake. And almost always, those regrets led to the kinds of what if questions that could never be answered.
Her fine high forehead sloped gently up to where her hair, bordering it like an armorial shield, burst into lovelocks and waves and curlicues of ash blonde and gold. Her eyes were bright, big, clear, wet and shining, the colour of her cheeks was real, breaking close to the surface from the strong young pump of her heart. Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood -- she was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.
Boredom forces you to ring people you haven’t seen for eighteen years and halfway through the conversation you remember why you left it so long. Boredom means you start to read not only mail-order catalogues but also the advertising inserts that fall on the floor. Boredom gives you half a mind to get a gun and go berserk in the local shopping centre, and you know where this is going. Eventually, boredom means you will take up golf.
That summer when she was eighteen, it seemed anything could happen, anything at all.
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