All Quotes By Tag: Innocence

“For children, childhood is timeless. It is always the present. Everything is in the present tense. Of course, they have memories. Of course, time shifts a little for them and Christmas comes round in the end. But they don’t feel it. Today is what they feel, and when they say ‘When I grow up,’ there is always an edge of disbelief—how could they ever be other than what they are?”

“Writing takes a combination of sophistication and innocence; it takes conscience, our belief that something is beautiful because it is right.”

“When in court, the primary role of lawyers is not to prove or disprove innocence; unbeknown to almost all lawyers and their clients, it is to save the court time.”

“But it’s really faith that monsters live on, isn’t it? I am led irresistibly to this conclusion: food maybe life, but the source of power is faith, not food. And who is more capable of a total act of faith than a child?”

“Voll Blüten steht der Pfirsichbaum nicht jede wächst zur Frucht sie schimmern hell wie Rosenschaum durch Blau und Wolkenflucht. Wie Blüten geh’n Gedanken auf hundert an jedem Tag — lass’ blühen, lass’ dem Ding den Lauf frag’ nicht nach dem Ertrag! Es muss auch Spiel und Unschuld sein und Blütenüberfluss sonst wär’ die Welt uns viel zu klein und Leben kein Genuss.”

“Innocence bears no weight to the cruel at heart, for their goals seek nothing more than selfishness and greed”

“The Fall was a fall from innocence to knowledge.”

“Gavin is just a kid. He hasn’t figured out yet how cruel life can be. How it can take everything from you, dig in its sharp teeth and not let go. He still has hope. I can’t tarnish that.”

“Obedient to no man, dependent only on weather and season, without a goal before them or a roof above them, owning nothing, open to every whim of fate, the homeless wanderers lead their childlike, brave, shabby existence. They are the sons of Adam, who was driven out of Paradise; the brothers of the animals, of innocence. Out of heaven’s hand they accept what is given them from moment to moment: sun, rain, fog, snow, warmth, cold, comfort, and hardship; time does not exist for them and neither does history, or ambition, or that bizarre idol called progress and evolution, in which houseowners believe so desperately. A wayfarer may be delicate or crude, artful or awkward, brave or cowardly—he is always a child at heart, living in the first day of creation, before the beginning of the history of the world, his life always guided by a few simple instincts and needs. He may be intelligent or stupid; he may be deeply aware of the fleeting fragility of all living things, of how pettily and fearfully each living creature carries its bit of warm blood through the glaciers of cosmic space, or he may merely follow the commands of his poor stomach with childlike greed—he is always the opponent, the deadly enemy of the established proprietor, who hates him, despises him, or fears him, because he does not wish to be reminded that all existence is transitory, that life is constantly wilting, that merciless icy death fills the cosmos all around.”

“The cup of innocence will always overflow with the liquid of experience.”

“He is trying to recapture his innocence, yet all he succeeds in doing (by writing) is to inoculate the world with a virus of his disillusionment.”

“Innocence invites protection, yet we might be smarter to protect ourselves against it…”

“Isn’t life,’ she stammered, ‘isn’t life–‘ But what life was she couldn’t explain. No matter. He quite understood.’Isn’t it, darling?’ said Laurie.”

“Then Deborah stood at the wicket gate, the boundary, and there was a woman with outstretched hand, demanding tickets.”Pass through,” she said when Deborah reached her. “We saw you coming.” The wicket gate became a turnstile. Deborah pushed against it and there was no resistance, she was through. “What is it?” she asked. “Am I really here at last? Is this the bottom of the pool?””It could be,” smiled the woman. “There are so many ways. You just happened to choose this one.”Other people were pressing to come through. They had no faces, they were only shadows. Deborah stood aside to let them by, and in a moment they had gone, all phantoms.”Why only now, tonight?” asked Deborah. “Why not in the afternoon, when I came to the pool?””It’s a trick,” said the woman. “You seize on the moment in time. We were here this afternoon. We’re always here. Our life goes on around you, but nobody knows it. The trick’s easier by night, that’s all.””Am I dreaming, then?” asked Deborah.”No,” said the woman, “this isn’t a dream. And it isn’t death, either. It’s the secret world.”The secret world… It was something Deborah had always known, and now the pattern was complete. The memory of it, and the relief, were so tremendous that something seemed to burst inside her heart.”Of course…” she said, “of course…” and everything that had ever been fell into place. There was no disharmony. The joy was indescribable, and the surge of feeling, like wings about her in the air, lifted her away from the turnstile and the woman, and she had all knowledge. That was it – the invasion of knowledge. (“The Pool”)”

“My world was the size of a crayon box, and it took every colour to draw her”