"It
is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost
it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the
truthless ideal which have been instilled into them, and each time they
come in contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded. It looks as
if they were victims of a conspiracy; for the books they read, ideal by
the necessity of selection, and the conversation of their elders, who
look back upon the past through a rosy haze of forgetfulness, prepare
them for an unreal life. They must discover for themselves that all they
have read and all they have been told are lies, lies, lies; and each
discovery is another nail driven into the body on the cross of life."
-W. Somerset Maugham
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