Life & Wisdom Quote by Catherine Drinker Bowen

Self-knowledge is treated here not as a hard-won adult prize but as something almost embarrassingly available in childhood, then systematically misplaced. Bowen’s line has the quiet sting of an observation delivered without theatrics: at ten, a person can be startlingly fluent about what they love, what scares them, what feels unjust, what kind of attention they crave. Then comes the long middle stretch where society rewards amnesia. Between ten and thirty, you learn to narrate yourself in acceptable terms - credentials, romance, polish, ambition - until the original voice sounds like someone else’s diary.

The phrasing matters. “Known himself” suggests an earned intimacy, not mere innocence; “forgets himself utterly” is absolute, almost violent. Bowen isn’t describing change so much as self-erasure: the way a coherent kid becomes a strategic adult, swapping instinct for performance. It’s also a gendered, historically inflected insight from a writer who watched early-20th-century Americans get funneled into prescribed roles. In that world, adolescence and young adulthood weren’t “finding yourself” years; they were compliance years, a crash course in what not to be.

The time bracket is the point. Ten to thirty covers schooling, first jobs, first marriages, wars for Bowen’s generation, and the soft coercion of “settling down.” By thirty, many people have enough evidence of what those choices cost to begin the harder, less glamorous task: remembering.