Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children.

“Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children.” — thus spoke George Bernard Shaw, the sharp-tongued sage of Ireland, whose wit often carried the weight of prophecy. In this jest, wrapped in laughter, lies a truth both sorrowful and profound. For Shaw, with eyes sharpened by time and intellect, saw that the gift of youth — its strength, its fire, its hunger for life — often belongs to those too young to grasp its worth. He spoke as one who had lived long enough to understand that the power of youth is squandered on inexperience, and that wisdom, arriving late, must borrow the weary hands of age.

The origin of this saying springs from Shaw’s lifelong fascination with the human paradox. He believed that men are born with the gifts they cannot yet use, and only when they have learned how to use them, those gifts fade away. Youth, to him, was nature’s cruel joke — a time of vigor without understanding, of boundless energy guided by folly. The children, to whom this energy belongs, waste it on whims, on fleeting desires, on the vanity of the moment. And so the crime is not against society alone, but against the very soul of man — that by the time we gain the wisdom to live well, our bodies are no longer strong enough to act upon it.

To understand the depth of Shaw’s lament, one must see how it mirrors the cycle of all generations. The young rush forward with untempered passion, while the old watch with knowing eyes, powerless to transfer their hard-earned understanding. Thus, every age repeats the errors of its forebears, each youth believing itself immortal, each elder remembering too late that life was brief. Shaw’s words echo through this eternal rhythm, half a smile and half a sigh, as though he stood at the edge of life, watching the torch of vitality pass again to hands too careless to cherish it.

Consider the life of Alexander the Great, that blazing spirit who conquered the known world before he reached his thirty-third year. In him burned the full splendor of youth — courage, vision, and unrelenting drive. Yet in that same flame lay destruction. For what Alexander possessed in power, he lacked in patience; what he held in greatness, he missed in wisdom. His empire, vast as the sky, crumbled after his death because it had been built by passion, not tempered by reflection. He had the strength of youth but not the understanding of age — and in this, Shaw’s truth is revealed: energy without wisdom is glory destined to fall.

And yet, Shaw’s words are not meant as bitterness, but as an awakening. He reminds us that the true task of life is not to curse the division between youth and age, but to bridge it. The wise must learn to share their understanding before their fire fades, and the young must learn to listen before their energy is spent. The real tragedy is not that youth belongs to children, but that so many adults abandon the spirit of youth — its daring, its imagination, its belief in wonder — once the body grows old. Shaw’s jest, then, becomes a challenge: to carry into age the vitality of youth and into youth the foresight of age.

We might think also of Leonardo da Vinci, who never ceased to dream, to experiment, to learn, even in his final years. In him, youth and wisdom lived side by side. His hands, though wrinkled, still reached for the stars; his eyes, though aged, still saw with the wonder of a child. Such harmony is the answer to Shaw’s complaint. For youth is not merely a matter of years — it is the flame of curiosity and courage that can burn even in old bones. The crime, then, is not that youth is wasted on children, but that too many men and women, growing older, let that flame die.

So, my listener, take this teaching to heart. If you are young, seek wisdom as eagerly as you seek joy; let your strength serve purpose, not pride. And if you are old, guard not your wisdom in silence — share it, so that your years bear fruit in others. Above all, do not surrender the wonder of youth, for it is the wellspring of creation and hope. Time may take your vigor, but never let it steal your fire. For the one who learns early the balance of youth and wisdom, passion and patience, becomes something rare: a soul who truly lives.

And remember always — youth is indeed a wonderful thing, but it need not be wasted. For it belongs not only to the young, but to all who dare to keep their hearts awake, their eyes open, and their dreams alive, even as the years march on.