Quotes About Innocence

We were not rich, but there was nothing we wanted. From my bedroom window I watched the world. And I was safe from the world.

he felt that he too was only a baby, with the chance to live without shame, without the need for consolation for a life lived wrong, a chance to be again innocent, simply and impossibly happy.

I liked watching the baby make fists.

I know a lot about birds and bees, but I don't know very much about the birds and the bees.

Give it a try. Bellybutton." "Bellybutton doesn't make me think of anything." "Dig deep." "In my bellybutton?" "In your brain, Oskar." "Uh." "Bellybutton. Bellybutton." "Stomach anus?

But I loved them. I loved the truth they conveyed: that kids aren't yet able to fake it. Or they aren't yet able to conceal their disingenuousness. They're wonderful smilers, the best; but they're the very worst fake smilers. The inability to fake a smile defines childhood.

All happy mornings resemble one another, as do all unhappy mornings, and that's at the bottom of what makes them so deeply unhappy: the feeling that this unhappiness has happened before, that efforts to avoid it will at best reinforce it, and probably even exacerbate it, that the universe is, for whatever inconceivable, unnecessary, and unjust reason, conspiring against the innocent sequence of clothes, breakfast, teeth and egregious cowlicks, backpacks, shoes, jackets, goodbye.

lo de Mono no me viene de lo rubio que fui cuando chiquito sino de mi habilidad para encaramarme en los árboles

Per il candore e la semplicità della sua vita, c'è chi lo giudica un angelo; è una pietosa esagerazione, poiché non c'è uomo che sia esente da colpa.

The poet Yeats felt we were living in the last of a great Christian cycle. His poem "The Second Coming" says, "Turning and turning in the widening gyre/The falcon cannot hear the falconer;/Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;/Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,/The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere/The ceremony of innocence is drowned.

But now I am six. And I'm clever as clever. And now I think I'll stay six now forever and ever.

No one can write a book which children will like, unless he write it for himself first. – A. A. Milne

I do remember,' explained Christopher Robin, 'only Pooh doesn't very well, so that's why he likes having it told to him again. Because then it's a real story and not just a remembering.

By brooks too broad for leapingThe lightfoot boys are laid.

Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon.

Wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn't.

He thought how sad it was to be an Animal who had never had a bunch of violets picked for him.

Christopher Robin ... just said it had an "x."' 'It isn't their necks I mind,' said Piglet earnestly. 'It's their teeth.

Piglet opened the letter box and climbed in. Then, having untied himself, he began to squeeze into the slit, through which in the old days when front doors were front doors, many an unexpected letter than WOL had written to himself, had come slipping.

But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

For a long time they looked at the river beneath them, saying nothing, and the river said nothing too, for it felt very quiet and peaceful on this summer afternoon. "Tigger is all right really," said Piglet lazily. "Of course he is," said Christopher Robin. "Everybody is really," said Pooh. "That's what I think," said Pooh. "But I don't suppose I'm right," he said. "Of course you are," said Christopher Robin.

Childhood is not the happiest time of one's life, but only to a child is pure happiness possible.

Tell the innocent visitor from another world that two people were killed at Sarajevo, and that the best that Europe could do about it was to kill eleven million more.