"When you're young, you just go banging about, but you're more sensitive as you grow older"
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Youth, Deborah Kerr implies, is less a golden age than a noisy one. "Banging about" captures the physical comedy of being young: bodies that bounce back, egos that don’t yet register consequences, a confidence that looks like carelessness because it often is. The phrase has a faintly British briskness to it, a tidy way of admitting chaos without glamorizing it.
Then she pivots: "more sensitive as you grow older". Sensitivity here isn’t sentimentality; it’s calibration. With time, you develop a finer-grained awareness of other people’s boundaries, of your own limits, of what lingers after the impact. Kerr’s career makes that contrast land. She built a screen persona on composure and intelligence, often playing women whose stillness carried the drama. From that vantage point, aging isn’t decline but refinement: the instrument gets better at detecting tone.
The subtext is quietly defiant in a culture that sells aging, especially for actresses, as a narrowing. Kerr reframes it as expanded perception. The cost is implied: you’re "more sensitive" because you’ve been bruised, because you’ve learned what can break. Yet the line refuses the usual nostalgia for youthful fearlessness. It suggests that maturity brings a different kind of courage: not the bravery of charging ahead, but the bravery of feeling more and acting anyway.
Then she pivots: "more sensitive as you grow older". Sensitivity here isn’t sentimentality; it’s calibration. With time, you develop a finer-grained awareness of other people’s boundaries, of your own limits, of what lingers after the impact. Kerr’s career makes that contrast land. She built a screen persona on composure and intelligence, often playing women whose stillness carried the drama. From that vantage point, aging isn’t decline but refinement: the instrument gets better at detecting tone.
The subtext is quietly defiant in a culture that sells aging, especially for actresses, as a narrowing. Kerr reframes it as expanded perception. The cost is implied: you’re "more sensitive" because you’ve been bruised, because you’ve learned what can break. Yet the line refuses the usual nostalgia for youthful fearlessness. It suggests that maturity brings a different kind of courage: not the bravery of charging ahead, but the bravery of feeling more and acting anyway.
Quote Details
| Topic | Aging |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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