Quotes About Innocence

A baseball bat could not have hit me harder than that smile did. I was sixteen years old. In that time, how many thousands of smiles had been aimed at me? so why did this one feel like the first?

It was sweet and lovely, that smile, perhaps the more so because it wasn't complicated by much in the way of thought.

And now he smiled at me. All teeth. The way only people who hadn't learned self-consciousnessknew how to smile.

People in their natural state are basically good. But this natural innocence,however, is corrupted by the evils of society.

The soul is healed by being with children.

Their childish high spirits succeeded entirely in diverting my thoughts from the subject that they usually circled, like bees buzzing around a darkly oozing honey-comb, and no sooner did I step into the open air and feel my muscles stretched to the full again in an improvised race with the young woman than I was the fit, carefree boy of the past once more.

It is a blessing not yet to have acquired that over-keen, diagnostic, misanthropic eye, and to be able to look at people and things trustfully when one first sees them.

Cuteness should be preserved.

You can't measure what a boy did in innocence against what a man has to do for the rest of his life.

There is no worse feeling than being unable to assuage the suffering of the innocent.

If you are wise you won't be deceived by the innocent airs of those whom you have once found to be dangerous.

If you are wise you won't be deceived by the innocent airs of those whom you have once found to be dangerous.

A definition of beauty that more accurately summed up my feelings for Chloe was delivered by Stendhal. Beauty is the promise of happiness, he wrote, pointing to the way Chloe's face alluded to qualities I identified with a good life: there was humor in her nose, her freckles spoke of innocence, and her teeth suggested a casual, cheeky disregard for convention.

It is a wonderful thing to live in a world where so many people are nice to children. It would be even better if we lived in one where we were a little nicer to the childlike sides of one another.

Jesus sleeping in his mother's arms subliminally reinforce his counsel that we should learn to regard all our fellow human beings as if they were children.

There is dangerous innocence in the expectation of a future formed on the basis of probability.

There is dangerous innocence in the expectation of a life formed on the basis of probability.

To see the infinite pity of this place, The mangled limb, the devastated face, The innocent sufferers smiling at the rod, A fool were tempted to deny his God. He sees, and shrinks; but if he look again, Lo, beauty springing from the breast of pain!— He marks the sisters on the painful shores, And even a fool is silent and adores.

Those who recognize their innocence do not expect, receive, or accept punishment from any outside source.

Those who love you are not fooled by mistakes you have made or dark images you hold about yourself. They remember your beauty when you feel ugly; your wholeness when you are broken; your innocence when you feel guilty; and your purpose when you are confused

Jesus never asked us to go on the cross with him and he did not die for your sins. That premise is faulty because Christ is deathless and you have no sins. Instead, he lives for your innocence. He is the model of a man who recognized his innate divinity, the same godliness you own. He does not want you to emulate his crucifixion. He wants you to magnify his resurrection. You don't need to experience crucifixion to gain resurrection. There are easier ways to get to heaven.

If I had known what the next six years of my life were going to be like, I would have eaten more. I wouldn't have complained about brushing my teeth, or taking a bath, or going to bed at eight o'clock every night. I would have played more. Laughed more. I would have hugged my parents and told them I loved them. But I was ten years old, and I had no idea of the nightmare that was to come. None of us did.

It was to the small serious boy that he turned for his enjoyment. He had bought the child some cheap wooden blocks, and with these the little one played endlessly and intently, with a purpose obscure to the adult mind, but completely absorbing.

Aye, but the hand that had murdered had once pressed the mother's breast into the thirsting mouth, had stolen into the father's hand when they went out into the dark. Aye, but the murderer afraid of death had once been a child afraid of the night.