I've yet to meet a bitter teenager. Bitterness, jealousy and

There is a quiet lament and deep understanding in the words of Jane Goldman, when she said: “I've yet to meet a bitter teenager. Bitterness, jealousy, and jadedness, I think, are the most unattractive qualities in a person, and unfortunately they do seem to come with age.” In these words lies a profound reflection on the corruption of innocence — the way the heart, once open and radiant, can grow heavy under the weight of disappointment and envy. Goldman speaks not with condemnation, but with sorrow, as one who has watched the fire of youth dim into the embers of cynicism. Her quote is both observation and warning: bitterness, if left unchallenged, is the slow death of wonder.

The teenager, in her view, represents a soul still unscarred by too much betrayal, too many failures, too many comparisons. The young believe in possibility. They dream wildly, love recklessly, and imagine that the world — though flawed — might still be changed by their hands. In youth, hope outpaces caution, and life feels infinite. But as years pass, and experience hardens the spirit, bitterness can begin to take root. It is the residue of unmet expectations, the shadow of dreams that fell short. Where once there was belief, there grows doubt; where once there was joy, there creeps jealousy — the poison born of seeing others possess what we have lost or never attained.

In the ancient world, philosophers and poets spoke of this transformation as the erosion of the soul’s purity. Sophocles wrote of men whose hearts, once noble, grew weary from fate’s unrelenting blows. Jane Goldman’s insight echoes theirs — that it is not youth that corrupts, but age untempered by reflection. Life, if one does not guard the heart, teaches suspicion instead of wisdom, comparison instead of gratitude, and resentment instead of acceptance. Thus, what was once vitality becomes jadedness — that dull indifference that is more tragic than sorrow, for it no longer even feels.

Yet history also gives us those who defied this decay. Consider Leonardo da Vinci, who, even into his old age, remained childlike in curiosity. His notebooks overflowed with sketches of wings, rivers, and stars — as if he still believed, like a boy, that the world held more wonders than he could ever discover. Leonardo’s heart never turned bitter, though he saw human folly and failure in abundance. He aged, but he never became jaded, for he never ceased to learn. His example proves that while bitterness may come with age, it need not stay. The soul that continues to marvel will never wither.

Goldman’s words strike so deeply because they expose a truth we often ignore: bitterness is not born from evil, but from pain. Those who are jaded were once idealists; those who are jealous once dreamed freely. Their cynicism is the scar tissue of hope betrayed. Yet, she calls it “unattractive” not merely for its appearance, but for its effect — because it closes the heart. A bitter person cannot love fully, nor trust, nor inspire. Their energy pulls inward, draining both themselves and those around them. To grow older without growing bitter, then, is one of life’s greatest achievements.

Her observation that youth lacks bitterness is not praise of naivety, but a call to preserve the spirit of youth within us. The teenager’s heart — restless, passionate, unafraid of risk — is what keeps the soul alive. To protect that spark amid life’s storms, one must practice forgiveness, curiosity, and gratitude. Forgive not only others, but oneself for the dreams that faded. Stay curious about the world, for curiosity renews the mind. And be grateful — not for perfection, but for the beauty that still remains despite imperfection. These are the antidotes to bitterness, the salves that keep the spirit young.

So let this be the wisdom passed down: time will bring trials, but it need not bring corrosion. Jealousy and jadedness may visit every heart, but they cannot stay where love and humility dwell. The key is not to avoid pain, but to transform it — to let every disappointment deepen compassion rather than harden pride. For the greatest tragedy is not growing old, but growing cold. And the greatest triumph is to reach the end of life still ablaze with wonder, still capable of joy, still unafraid to hope again.

Thus, Jane Goldman’s words are not merely a lament, but a summons — a call to fight for the youth within. The body may age, but the heart need not. The wise do not envy the young; they learn from them, keeping alive that sacred fire of belief. For those who remain kind amid bitterness, generous amid jealousy, and curious amid jadedness, shall never truly grow old — they shall live, radiant and untamed, until their final breath.