Late Bloomer Quotes

I was a late bloomer. But anyone who blooms at all, ever, is very lucky.

Dad says I’m a late bloomer.' 'Maybe. Or maybe you’re blooming now, and you’re just not the kind of flower he was expecting.

She is often the broken-winged one, who does everything all wrong until people realize she's been doing it... pretty right all along. She's the poor girl who never dressed right, who had torn hose, and they were all baggy around her ankles. She's the Raggedy Ann of the sophisticated world, who pulls it out at the last minute, flies by the seat of her pants, cackling all the way home. She is the late bloomer, the late start, the autumn bush, the winter holly. She is Baubo, all the classical Greek goddesses. She is the old girl who still blushes, and laughs, and dances. She's the truth teller, maybe that people hate to hear, but they learn to listen to. She is not dumb and in some ways is not shrewd. She works on passion, and the doll in her pocket, and the intuition that leads her into and through all the world.

So called 'late-bloomers' get a bad rap. Sometimes the people with the greatest potential often take the longest to find their path because their sensitivity is a double edged sword- it lives at the heart of their brilliance, but it also makes them more susceptible to life's pains. Good thing we aren't being penalized for handing in our purpose late. The soul doesn't know a thing about deadlines.

So what exactly does it mean to be a late bloomer? Simply put, a late bloomer is a person who fulfills their potential later than expected; they often have talents that aren't visible to others initially... And they fulfill their potential frequently in novel and unexpected ways, surprising even those closest to them. They are not attempting to satisfy, with gritted teeth, the expectations of their parents or society, a false path that leads to burnout and brittleness, or even to depression and illness... Late bloomers are those who find their supreme destiny on their own schedule, in their own way.

Lots of famous people are late bloomers. My father says it’s an advantage to be a late bloomer. Because when good things start happening, you’re ready for it.

Daddy, I'll be fine. Smalley says some people are late bloomers, that's all." Actually, what she'd said was, 'Tis a marvellous bud that opens its petals at midnight - not so eager as the weeds of daybreak. I figured that translated to, Just because you're not a slut like Veronica, doesn't mean you'll end up alone.

It's just as important to know when to drop something and shift direction as it is to know when to stick with something. When we quit the things that aren't working for us, we free up our willpower and perseverance for the things that really do matter.

I was going to be a late bloomer but I was going to bloom spectacularly.

Sometimes we are late bloomers because the world needs to catch up to us.

This was one of those moments when I realized that my emotional baggage, once a few neatly packed pieces, was now like the Joads' truck, stacked high with old clothes, half a rocking chair, a mule, all barely secured with twine.

late bloomer–small, plain, ignored. In some ways, her ugly duckling status had been like a force field, keeping the world at bay so she could grow, come into her own, and figure out that there was more to her than the way she looked.

In a fruitless year, take a fearless heart Those who bloom late will light sparks through the dark

When I was growing up, in our house nudity was defined as the period of time between the shower and your towel.

Confidence gets you off to a fast start. Confidence gets you that first job and maybe the next two promotions. But confidence stops you from learning. Confidence becomes a caricature after a while. I can't tell you how many confident blowhards I've seen in my coaching career who never get better after the age of forty." -- Bill Walsh

The worst thing a company can do is kill off the creative energy of its young and talented people. The second worst thing is to blindly walk into avoidable traps that a wise senior employee can help them foresee.

In every aspect of our lives, there are many, equally valid ways to reach a positive outcome. There are always many ways to achieve a goal, gain expertise, or find success.

Pay attention, follow the directions, use good ingredients, practice technique, share with friends, and voila! Happiness abounds!

Being a late bloomer gives you a second chance at life.

That late bloomers bloom late because they simply aren't much good until late in their careers.

No one becomes a late bloomer doing something they hate.

In loving my people, I am a late bloomer and feel horribly prodigal for it.

Late-blooming success can be complicated. As people age, they are more likely to judge their accomplishments on their own terms; however, late bloomers often use the benefits of broader acknowledgment and publicity to help them meet their personal and professional goals.

To succeed at anything worthwhile in life requires persistence, no matter how gifted, fortunate, or passionate you are. When I interviewed late bloomers for this book, nearly every one said that once you find your passion and your "pot," you need to hang in there--you need to persist.

Early bloomers enjoy many advantages in affluent societies. But one huge disadvantage they face is that by dint of their youth and accomplishments, they give themselves credit for their success, more than the rest of us do. That's understandable: adolescents and young adults tend to be self-centered... The problem arises when early bloomers have a setback: either they put all the blame on themselves and fall into self-condemnation and paralysis, or they blame everyone else. Late bloomers tend to be more circumspect: they are able to see their own role in the adversity they face, without succumbing to self-condemnation or blame shifting.

We get smarter and more creative as we age, research shows. Our brain's anatomy, neural networks, and cognitive abilities can actually improve with age and increased life experiences. Contrary to the mythology of Silicon Valley, older employees may be even more productive, innovative, and collaborative than younger ones... Most people, in fact, have multiple cognitive peaks throughout their lives.

You're on your own, kid.

The Poets say you can live on love alone, but if that were true their books would be free.

Tenacity, or willpower, is a limited resource.

When we force ourselves to do things we’re not naturally inclined to do, or that don’t fit our passion or purpose in life, we pay for it with reduced motivation and drive.

Fuck anything and anyone that made you have to survive instead of live. You deserve a life so peaceful it feels deliciously boring. A life filled with flowers and sunny days and people who show you all the time that you're valued and worthy. You deserve it all.

People who self-handicap purposely shoot themselves in the foot in order to protect themselves from having to confront their possible shortcomings. Many self-handicapping behaviors are those small, subtle bad habits like being late, gossiping, micromanaging, behaving passive-aggressively, or being a perfectionist. We may not recognize these self-defeating--and self-handicapping--traits for what they are. Or we may even wrongly perceive them as strengths. But in truth, they often get in the way of us blooming.

A butterfly that doesn't break out from its chrysalis can't survive.

Are you always such a pessimist?” “Yes. It makes disappointment much easier to take.

Is this thing on?

Whenever you're late, make others wonder if they can handle your success if you came on time

And she said that people were just like century trees. You never know when they will bloom, but when they do, it’s always an extraordinary sight to behold.

I guess I’m a late bloomer.” “I sure like you blooming with me, Bev.

Most late bloomers win big at life in their older years. Don't sleep on the unnoticed and the underrated. The wheel of fortune will eventually turn in their favor.

… this little green bulb is finally blossoming into a red rose. I might be a late bloomer, but at least, I’m blooming.

(About her age when her first poem was published...) As a poet, it's fair to say that I was a 'late bloomer.' My youngest had published two poems by the age of nine. Isn't that amazing? I was a little older when I saw my first poem in print -- almost 40 years older. Now my little boy is my editor, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm the only writer I know who used to burp her editor.

We’re all suffering. I guess I just relate to people who are willing to share more of themselves. A lot of pain in the world could be alleviated if we could all admit when we’re having a hard time.

[Young] adults who take gap years tended to be less motivated than their peers before the gap year. But after their gap year, most of them find new motivation. They had higher performance outcomes, career choice formation, improved employability, and a variety of life skills. The gap year can be seen as an educational process in which skills and critical reflection contribute to an individual's development.

Some people are late bloomers and come to particular stages at a relative late stage. You have to have a feeling for where you are. You only have one life to live and you don't have to live it for six people. Pay attention to it.

How many of us were tagged with “no ranking” in high school, or dismissed early in our careers, or are dismissed even now? What gifts and passions might we possess that haven’t yet been discovered but that could give us wings to fly?

I was a late bloomer. I was still naïve about what 16 year olds today have known for years. I remember sitting up and taking notice—of the world, my body, others—in a way never before experienced. I noticed boys, or rather they noticed me, at 16.

Actually, no, it arrived the morning of my Claiming Day. I suppose you could say I was late to bloom." He slid her an amused glance. "Much like someone else I know." An unexpected jolt of hope lightened her step. Maybe she was a late bloomer instead of a weed?

Some people are late bloomers b/c they didn’t think they were going to be here. How can someone plan for a future they never saw? Give yourself and others grace. Release the guilt of not having it all together yet. A lot of people are living life for the first time.

So,” she giggled. “When will Damon’s wings come in?” Damon fl ushed and sat beside her, completely embarrassed. Dean cracked an amused smile and glanced at his son. “Damon’s a bit of a late bloomer,” he explained. “His wings’ll be coming in any time now.” “Father…” Damon whined.

The Late Bloomer by Leon Friedman. The book is familiar to A.J., but he’s not sure why. He opens the galley and a business card falls out: amelia loman, knightley press. Yes, he remembers now. Of course, he has encountered Amelia Loman in the years since that awkward first meeting.

…if you collide with someone, you must be prepared to reside inside their psychology indefinitely, and this is the burden of a lifetime. You are pathologically porous, you inhabit every emotion you see, and you may be a prophet, but if you are, you’re a late bloomer because no prophecies have descended upon you yet…

Books can tell you a lot about a person, Vince. You find the books, you find the heart.

And that’s my problem. I’m so hungry to connect with someone—anyone—I settle for crumbs and pretend like they’re a full meal.

Some of the best things in life take time to ripen.

Do they have any of the old country songs, or is it all Taylor Swift?

Every piece of you is beautiful,

i am scared i will blow away too far from who i was and not end up at who i want to be

You’re definitely a different person at different stages in your life.” — Ben Harper

All the suffering that is in the world arises from wishing ourselves to be happy. All the happiness there is in the world arises from wishing others to be happy.

The antidote of envy is to rejoice in the good qualities of others.

Do you remember that day in Senior Goals when you said it wasn't strange that I wanted to go to the moon?" "I remember." "I think that was the first day I really noticed you." "Took you that long?" Kath teased her. "Maybe I'm a late bloomer," Lily said tartly. "Why, when did you notice me?" Kath shot her a grin. "You really want to know?" "Yes!" "Well . . . last year, you helped me with a geometry proof. You probably don't remember. You do this thing where you . . ." Kath trailed off, looking a little shy. "What? What do I do?" "You chew on your lip when you do a difficult math problem," Kath said. "It's cute." Lily's face went red, and she laughed. "I'd better stop that in college, or no one with take me seriously.

The most beautiful thing is that despite the shallow life we sometimes succumb to - the soul has no timeline and it knows what it wants and will yearn within until it seeks the journey

Given that my first crush was a mythical centaur hybrid of Garrison Keillor and Ted Danson, you won’t be surprised to learn that I was a late bloomer. There were other indicators, too, like my troll doll earring collection and the fact that I was naturally drawn to gorgeous best friends who transformed me, by comparison, into the homely sidekick (in troll doll earrings

The popular advice is we just need more confidence, more assurance, more chutzpah. But the issue with confidence is how we try to achieve it. Too often we try to win high self-regard in cheap ways. We undermine others, or we compare our achievements to those of the weakest around us. We conform to cultural norms, believing that what society values is what we value and that how society defines success is how we must define success. These cheap self-confidence tricks are unsustainable and can lead to narcissism during good times and depression during hard times.

Seeing Bobby with his mother, the way he needed her, pulled on her arms and legs for her undivided attention—was it possible both to miss something and to feel relief at its being gone at the same time?

Just as functioning isn't uniform, it isn't linear either. There is a commonly seen phenomenon in autistic children where they'll make big gains in elementary school then regress when they hit adolescence. Or a child will be labeled a late bloomer, seeming practically "normal" in their teen years, then seem to backslide dramatically when they go off to college or enter the adult world of work and independent living

Plum's own romantic history so far had been pretty limited, with minimal drama. It was one area where she felt comfortable lagging behind her peers. But she prided herself on her powerful philosophical insights into other people's relationships.

All the suffering that is in the world arises from wishing ourselves to be happy. All the happiness there is in the world arises from wishing others to be happy. That's this old Buddhist dude's way of saying you should always think about other people.

How long have you known that you also fancy men?” Merrick’s breath hitched as he dropped his head, panting heavily as the sponge stroked across his nape. He attempted to get his jumbled thoughts in order. Was this Cassius’s attempt to understand him? To form an amicable connection with him? “Not also,” he replied. “Only. I only fancy men.” For of that he was certain, and saying it out loud made it ring even clearer in his head. “I’ve known for as long as I can remember. When Marjorie played with her dolls, I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest as she pretended the male was courting the female. I would change the script in my head and…and have the gentleman court another gentleman.” The silence was nearly deafening in the room, the only sounds their harsh breaths and the water dripping off the sponge. “And you?” Merrick asked, clearing his throat. “It’s taken me a bit longer to know…to understand. I thought something was wrong with me, or that perhaps I was a late bloomer. My life has always been about my family…not about friends, nor anyone I ever fancied. When I finally took time to look inside myself, to allow myself pleasure, women had never figured into the equation

Sometimes you have to be the person that makes someone unhappy.’ That was it. No big deal.” Max shook his head like he was hearing this advice for the first time, his shaggy brown hair drifting into his face. “My mind was blown. It was as if someone had just given me permission to be a human being.

There was never a threat of things going too far when we were fake. But I see now how fast things can change without you even realizing it. It can go from a kiss to hands under my shirt in two seconds, and it’s so feverish, so frenzied. It’s like we’re on a high-speed train that’s going somewhere fast, and I like it, I do, but I also like a slow train where I can look out the window and appreciate the countryside, the buildings, the mountains. It’s like I don’t want to miss the little steps; I want it to last. And then the next second I want to grow up faster, more, now. To be as ready as everyone else is. How is everyone else so ready? I still find it very surprising, having a boy in my personal space. I still get nervous when he puts his arm around my waist or reaches for my hand. I don’t think I know how to date in the 2010s. I’m confused by it. I don’t want what Margot and Josh had, or Peter and Genevieve. I want something different. I guess you could call me a late bloomer, but that implies that we’re all on some predetermined blooming schedule, that there’s a right or a wrong way to be sixteen and in love with a boy. My body is a temple not just any boy gets to worship at. I won’t do any more than I want to do.

Grief is a strange beast. It can lie dormant for weeks. Months. You can go through the motions of life and truly convince yourself you’re healed and fine and will actually survive the heartache of loss. And then, like the flip of a switch, it rears its head and snaps its jaws, hungry and ready to devour you whole.

Once again, it was as if when every other girl was born, a nurse had handed their parents a handbook with instructions on how to be a girl, but the day I was born, the copy machine at the hospital was broken and the nurse had just looked at me and told my parents, Well, she’ll just have to figure it out. I’m sure she’ll be fine.

You make me want to hope, and that’s terrifying, because hope let’s you down. Hope hurts you.” “Hope doesn’t hurt you, Pepper,” she whispers, “People do. Hope lightens you and lifts you and expands more room in your heart than you know what to do with. And sharing that hope with someone that will care for it and tend to it like it deserves, only lets it grow more and more.

There were times when I did not stop at Amen. I could make the Beatitudes go on and on. There was never enough time to list all the blessed. Blessed are my students, I said, and blessed be their friends; blessed are the quitters; blessed are the nervous; blessed are those who hide; blessed are the messy; blessed are the ones who say 'Oh, that's over my head'; blessed are the late bloomers, and blessed are the foolish; blessed are those who lisp; blessed are the birthday party clowns; blessed are the waitresses; blessed are the awkward; blessed are those who burn the roofs of their mouths because they cannot stand to wait; and blessed are the heartbroken, the ones who haven't arrived at the other side of their pain. Thank you very much. Amen, amen, amen.

out between us, when we’d given it a try one tentative time, after I, too, learned what it was like for a marriage to implode. Lydia had been empathetic and understanding, and knew how to make great popcorn and buy ice cream and pour shots of tequila, and for sure she had a god-tier movie collection. It could’ve been a rom-com from the eighties: geeky late bloomer grows up and finally gets his chance with the dream girl who was out of his league when they met, because she was nine years his senior. By the time we took our short-lived tumble, the age gap didn’t seem nearly as prominent, but the dynamic still wasn’t quite right, and maybe never could be. There was no shaking free of the worry over what Lydia saw when she looked at me. She would always remember the bruises, the confessions. She would always remember how back then my dad kept insisting he was only trying to knock the fag out of me, and I’d thank him someday. She would always remember why I got into schlocky videos in the first place: I thought if he came through and saw I was watching something with lots of boobs, he’d leave me alone. Only it didn’t work that way. The world is full of carnivores intent on devouring their young, and if one rationale gets invalidated, they find another.

I was just a late bloomer. I wasn't going to die alone. I was going to try harder. I wanted forever love. I didn't want to be loveless.

In that sense, there’s freedom in being “average” looking—I never had any illusions that I would need to rely on my looks for anything. But we’re all just at the mercy of the patriarchy, right? When I say that I’m completely average looking, by what metric am I even judging that? A metric that, for millennia, has been determined by men, internalized by women, and spat back out in the form of color-blocked leggings and matching sports bras.

The world stops spinning. I'm the one orbiting the sun.

We have seen several times that stopping is the biggest barrier to success. There are various explanations why people stop working so hard – they have families, they get tenure, they have changing interests, they have made their money, their accumulated expertise stops them from experimenting, maybe even laziness – but anyone ambitious enough to want to change their lives or work on big problems can advantage themselves simply by not quitting.

Her temper sparking, nostrils flaring. The look hooks a chain into the center of my chest and jerks me back, whipping me into the past. Every harsh word, every broken promise, every moment of aching loneliness whether she was next to me or not. She tries to play it cool but that always makes the explosion worse. “Pepper,” she says through clenched teeth, “I’d like you to shut your silly little mouth and listen to what I’m trying to tell you.” “I know what you are trying to tell me. I’m terrible at reading people but I can read you, Mom. You make it so obvious.” That fake smile falls. A deep red rushing up her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “You better knock it off young lady. You are being extremely unlikeable right now. If you’d –“ “I don’t want you to like me, Mom.” I yell, throwing my arms up and gaining more than a few looks. “I don’t give a fuck if anyone finds me likeable. I just want you to care. I want you to care enough about your only child that you have even the tiniest bit of hesitation before hitting me up for money after abandoning me on a random doorstep.” She grips my arm, ripping me into the nearest corner – eyes scanning the room as I garner more attention. “Shut your damn mouth, now, Pepper Ann. I didn’t abandon you.” She spits, face getting close to mine as I shrink under her glare. “You know I’ve always done my best. Have I made mistakes, sure, of course. I’m only human. But I’m not allowed any grace? Any room for error? What about the mistakes you’ve made. I never throw your greed in your face. The way you were always putting on airs. I’d never make you feel bad for that.” “All you’ve ever done in my life is make me feel bad.” I say, with a choked laugh, tears pricking at my eyes, a few falling down my cheeks.

My traitorous heart lurches. Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t it feel so damn good for my mom, the person who is supposed to love me unconditionally to finally want to spend time with me? Know me? I’ve convinced myself my heart is hard as stone toward the woman but even a hint of her affection has it crumbling to dust. I can have all the bravado in the world but the second she gives me an ounce of attention, I’m a little kid again; eager and bouncing for her approval. I’m a fool, but I want it. I want to sit with my mom and have her take me to lunch, listen to stories of my life.

Listen to me,” She whispers, breath ghosting across my mouth. “You were dealt a shitty hand, Pepper. There’s no denying that, and I’ll never be able to wipe away that pain. I’ll never want to. It’s yours to feel as you need. But you’ve made due for way too long with the person that was supposed to love you hurting you instead. But that stops now. Fuck anything and anyone that made you have to survive instead of live. You deserve a life so peaceful it feels deliciously boring. A life filled with flowers and sunny days and people who show you all the time that you are valued and worthy. You deserve it all.

Is there anything worse than receiving pity from your little sister?

The binding reminded me of what I thought a marriage could be--joining yourself to a new family, and with their support, growing and blooming.

Everything has a way of cycling back.

Sometimes you have to be the person that makes someone unhappy.

Sometimes the most creative thinking comes out of need.

It's funny how that is--how you think you know a place, but there are still so many hidden surprises.' 'Just like people.

Here was a woman who was more Elliot's speed. I could see them together at some elegant, candlelit restaurant, or at the theater, or at a dinner party on the Vineyard. She probably had panties to match all of her bras.

There is no path to happiness. Happiness is the path.

It's been my experience that happiness does come from going toward all the things you love.

The best things are worth waiting for.

I only date late bloomers cause the last thing I need to deal with is the ego of a man who’s been getting it since middle school.

The plain and simple truth was, she preferred her own company to making small talk and pretending to be interested in people’s lives that were just as boring as her own.

How would you like to go through life with everyone thinking you’d had something to do with a friend’s death? That has to lie pretty heavy on a young person’s shoulders. She has to be able to get past it. Otherwise, how can she move on with her life?

I guess you could call me a late bloomer, but that implies that we’re all on some predetermined blooming schedule, that there’s a right or a wrong way to be sixteen and in love with a boy.

Open doors for people who are underrated and overlooked. Create systems that invest in and create opportunities for all—not just gifted students and high-potential employees. A good system gives underdogs and late bloomers the chance to show how far they’ve come.

or trepidation, like they wanted to run away as fast as they could once the photo was taken. But Manfred Lange appeared happy to be photographed. His occupation was listed as art historian, and his date of birth as 29 June 1871. All consistent with what Anna knew about him. She flipped the little cardboard folder of his work permit over. Underneath was a membership card to the NSDAP, the Nazi Party. Again, his unapologetic face stared out at her. Member number 149578. So he had been a party member. Anna twinged a little. Had he told her he had been a party member? People with important jobs usually had to be, and it didn’t necessarily mean they were true believers, or even sympathizers. Still, it bothered her. She scanned the room trying not to appear furtive but failing. She quickly flipped pages to see if she could find his Fragebogen, the questionnaire the Americans would have made him complete. But it wasn’t there, of course, because these were the Germans’ files, not the Americans’. Deeply uncomfortable, she flipped back to the party membership card. The date of issue was 20 April 1933. Hitler’s birthday. Manfred Lange had been what the Germans called a March Violet—a late bloomer. March Violets were those who joined the party right after Hitler had seized full authority in March of 1933. Many with elite jobs and who considered themselves to have standing in society, rushed to join the party in order to be on the right side of the power grab. Probably that’s what Manfred Lange had done, too, like millions of others. She closed the folder indicating she was ready to go. She wanted to be out of the building and far away. “Find anything we should know about?” Bender asked, as he held the door for her. “No,” she lied. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. The air had turned colder and the sky was socked in with dense clouds. “Looks like we’re in the clear for now. At least with the folks working for us.” He shot her a look. “Should you have let me see Herr Lange’s information?” Anna retaliated to deflect any further line of questioning. He smiled as he started the engine. “Probably not,” he said, “but I can’t help it. I’m so nosy.” Six “Where were you? I couldn’t find you at all yesterday.” Cooper was flustered and irritated but a smile appeared when Anna looked up at him from her desk. Things had piled up while she was out with Bender, so she had come in early to catch up. Anna honestly couldn’t remember if Manfred Lange had mentioned being a party member; she could only recall that he was very against the Nazis’ attitude toward art and free speech to the point where the memories had upset him. She hated that these misgivings lived on and probably would forever. One day, Amalia would ask her what she had done in the war. “I went with Bender to Darmstadt. I thought you knew about that,” she said. “He told me he had checked with you.” “That’s right. Of course. Was it a successful trip?” He sat down in the chair next to her table, intent on something. “I think so. He asked me to help him translate some paperwork. He was checking on some personnel? I didn’t find anything.” “Sounds like good news. For us, anyway. We already had to fire some people when their past caught up with them.” “Because they were party members?” “Or worse. Makes sense, but we had to let some very qualified people go. And with all these government types breathing down our necks, we can’t afford a single screw up. Washington is just waiting for something to go wrong so they can scrap this whole operation.” His face sank back into the shadows it had carried for the past weeks. He leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands. Anna felt sorry for him. “That won’t happen,” she said. “You will make sure of it.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. Without looking at her, Cooper took her hand in his and held it in place, his

bringing the big toe to my mouth. I pause, lips parted, staring at her for a beat longer, then pop the whole thing in my mouth and lick my lips.