Quotes About Innocence

The world of children is the world that makes sense.

crayon, drawing a

Sitting in the back of a cab, Scott pictures the boy eating cereal in front of the tv late at night - unable to sleep - watching a dog drawn from letters d-o-g talk to a cat drawn from the letters c-a-t. If only real life were that simple, where everyone we met and every place we went was fashioned from the pure essence of its identity. Where you looked at a man and saw the letters f-r-i-e-n-d, and looked at a woman and saw the word w-i-f-e.

I unconsciously decided that, even if it wasn't an ideal world, it should be so and painted only the ideal aspects of it - pictures in which there are no drunken slatterns or self-centered mothers . . . only foxy grandpas who played baseball with kids and boys who fished from logs and got up circuses in the back yard.

My comedy is for children from three to 93. You do need a slightly childish sense of humour and if you haven't got that, it's very sad.

Boy, n.: a noise with dirt on it.

Where children are, there is the golden age.

Is not the semblance of guilt, however slight the tinge, already a corruption?

Biz çocuk kalm?? bir milletiz. Çünkü her ?eye çocuk gibi sevinir, çocuk gibi üzülürüz her ?eye.

Sende çocukça bir büyüklük var

Reading these tales is like looking at a photograph of a child whom you only knew as an adult. In her eyes you can see the woman that you came to know much later—a face, not yet fully formed, that contains the promise of something that is now a part of you: the welcomed surprise of recognition in innocent eyes.

questions more readily than an adult. I looked at him. He looked back, curious and unafraid. He was not Rufus. I could see

Man, even man debased by the neocapitalism and pseudosocialism of our time, is a marvelous being because he sometimes speaks. Language is the mark, the sign, not of his fall but of his original innocence. Through the Word we may regain the lost kingdom and recover powers we possessed in the far-distant past.

Oh, what a tangled web do parents weave When they think that their children are nave.

The Preacher, the Politicain, the Teacher, Were each of them once a kiddie. A child, indeed, is a wonderful creature. Do I want one? God Forbiddie!

Oh, what a tangled web do parents weave when they think that their children are naive.

Entre los artículos almacenados en el "Canadá" que más dolorosamente me impresionaron, había una fila de coches de niño, que me trajeron al pensamiento a todos los desgraciados párvulos que los alemanes habían ejecutado. Otra sección emocionante era la destinada a los zapatos de niños y juguetes, que siempre estaba bien abastecida

I spoke to a twelve-year-old boy from the Czech camp who was wandering along the barbed wire, looking for something to eat. After speaking to him for a few minutes, I said, "Karli, do you know that you are too clever?" "Yes," was the reply, "I know that I am very clever. But I know, too, that I shall never have a chance to be more clever. That is what is tragic.

Toda mirada por encima del hombro puede adulterar los inocentes escenarios

There are some people at whom one only has to glance for one's throat to tighten and one's eyes to fill with tears of emotion. These people make one feel as if a stronger memory of our former innocence remains in them, as if they were a freak of nature, not entirely battered by the Fall. Perhaps they are messengers, like the servants who find a lost prince who's unaware of his origins, show him the robe that he wore in his native country, and remind him how to return home.

The best place for this kind of training is Holland where people, convinced of their utter innocence, do not use curtains. After dusk the windows turn into little stages on which actors act out their evenings. Sequences of images bathed in yellow, warm light are the individual acts of the same production entitled 'Life'. Dutch painting. Moving lives.

These people make one feel as if a stronger memory of our former innocence remains in them, as if they were a freak of nature, not entirely battered by the Fall. Perhaps they are messengers, like the servants who find a lost prince who's unaware of his origins, show him the robe that he

She thought about how hno one had taught us to grow old, how we didn't know what it would be like. When we were young we though of old age as an ailment that affected only other people. While we, for reasons never entirely clear, would remain young. We treated the old as though they were responsible for their condition somehow, as though they'd done something to earn it, like some types of diabetes or arteriosclerosis. And yet this was an ailment that affected the absolute most innocent.

As long as people don't find out how awful and abominable man can be to fellow man, their innocence will be left intact.