Best 589 quotes in «innocence quotes» category

Nous serons jeunes comme des chiens qui s'amusent.

Now it seemed unbelievable, the innocence of a girl in a fairy tale.

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.

O how can wicked men seem so steady and untouched with such black hearts, while poor innocents stand like malefactors before them!

Oh, tell me, who first declared, who first proclaimed that man only does nasty things because he does not know his own real interests; and that if he were enlightened, if his eyes were opened to his real normal interests, man would at once cease to do nasty things, would at once become good and noble because, being enlightened and understanding his real advantage, he would see his own advantage in the good and nothing else… . Oh, the babe! Oh, the pure, innocent child!

Ô, Muse of the Heart’s Passion, let me relive my Love’s memory, to remember her body, so brave and so free, and the sound of my Dreameress singing to me, and the scent of my Dreameress sleeping by me, Ô, sing, sweet Muse, my soliloquy!

Once one has begun to suspect this much about the world — once one has begun to suspect, that is, that one is not, and never will be, innocent, for the reason that no one is — some of the self-protective veils between oneself and reality begin to fall away.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Debbie Jacobs and a boy named Teddy Dennis.

...One cannot help but consider the future- what will it be like when all the wild places of the earth have been taken over by civilization, and there is no more room for Indians, Pirates, and Wild Boys?

Our lips were for each other and our eyes were full of dreams. We knew nothing of travel and we knew nothing of loss. Ours was a world of eternal spring, until the summer came.

O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm. That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy; And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. - The Sick Rose

Ô, Wanderess, Wanderess When did you feel your most euphoric kiss? Was I the source of your greatest bliss?

Our true nature is one of innocence and freedom to choose how we live. We need to be brave enough not to give that away. Don't give up on your right to, and sense of, TRUTH, Justice, and GRACE.

Our purpose is to find out whether innocence, the moment it becomes involved in an action, can avoid committing murder.

Out of the mouths of babes comes only bubbles. Out of the mouths of men like me, only babble.

Partly James was jealous because he was a virgin, but mostly it just felt really weird being in a room with two people who'd spent the night having sex. It reminded him of the feeling you get when you pull a hair off your tongue and realise it's not one of your own.

Scout- .. Uncle Jack?" Uncle Jack- "Ma'am?" Scout- "What's a whore-lady?

People get it wrong when they talk about innocence: they think it’s something to do with ignorance about the facts of sex and all the nasty things that happen in the world. But facts don’t change people: it’s understanding how the facts feel that does.

people who walk around in the rain naked don't get wet: they get washed

Remember, you are the true guru of yourself. You are therefore always with Guru - your soul. However, at various stages you meet mentors. Mentors are like lighthouse who supports navigation in a journey called life. But, it is the innocence, vision, and purity of yourself (Guru within) determines the degree of success you can achieve.

Say what you will, dear sister, we do what we do for the promise of our youth. Yet it is always they who scar beneath the points of daggers.

See the world through the eyes of your inner child. The eyes that sparkle in awe and amazement as they see love, magic and mystery in the most ordinary things.

People, in general, tend to project onto others their own state of mind. Well-meaning people inevitably assume other people are well meaning. People who cheat assume everyone cheats. People who deceive assume everybody deceives. Confessions of a Whistle-Blower: Lessons Anna C. Salter. Ethics & Behavior, Volume 8, Issue 2 June 1998

Ses mains ne tremblent pas. Les jurés ont été tirés au sort lors d’une audience préalable. Elle a découvert leur visage en même temps que Carl, son avocat. Elle se demande sans cesse ce qu’ils pensent. À quoi ils pensent. Ce qu’ils ressentent lorsqu’ils posent les yeux sur elle. Ce qu’elle doit faire pour les convaincre de son innocence.

She blinked, sat up, and saw Chris in the bathroom doorway. He'd just gotten out the shower. His hair was damp, and he was dressed only in his briefs. The sight of his thin, boyish body - all ribs and elbows and knees - pulled at her heart, for he looked so innocent and vulnerable. He was so small adn fragile that she wondered how she could ever protect him, and renewed fear rose in her.

She could sense the fear and anxiety of babies and younger children upon meeting her for the first time; their wide eyed stares, fidgeting, and outright tantrums. Blaring like little homing beacons, they knew that Mallory wore a disguise to cover her wounds, and that they probably weren't safe. They were so very innocent and unblemished from the world, and saw straight through to her heart.  It was the real reason she preferred not to be in their company or head a classroom full of tiny ones, though she often told those who questioned her preference for teaching teenagers that she didn't like small children.  Children hated pain. It was rare that they wouldn't shy away from an adult whose heart was laden with it.

She has this amazing aura around her which catches you off-guard. A girl’s innocence combined with a woman’s sensitivity. A charm that is alluring and attractive at the same time.

She'd never imagined such sensations existed; she could barely believe they were real. Yet the caresses continued, thrilling her, heating her- she had to wonder what else she didn't know. What else she had yet to experience. With every ounce of expertise at his command, Vane deliberately drew her deeper. Her total lack of resistance would have made him wonder, if he hadn't earlier seen this curiosity, the calm calculated intention in her eyes. She was willing, even eager- the knowledge stirred his passions powerfully. He held them in check, aware that she was no wanton, that she'd never been down this road before- and that, despite her guileless confidence, her openness- her implicit trust was a fragile thing which could all too easily be shattered by overly aggressive loving. She was naive, innocent- she needed to be loved tenderly, coaxed to passion gently, savored slowly. As he was savoring her now, the softness of her mouth his to enjoy, her breast firm under his fondling hand. Her innocence was refreshing- heady, addictive, entrancing.

She had never had a friend like this, in her private room, combing her hair, listening to her, talking about silly nonsense and the uselessness of one's parents; how the future was perfect, because they hadn't lived it yet.

She shrugged innocently at him and asked, “What I do?

She sees it coming. Like a rushing train. Like tear gas in a crowd. In the eternal seconds before it happens, she's hearing the whistle, seeing the hand reach for the grenade, and she can't stop it happening. Everything in her holds itself sharp and tense in expectation of catastrophe; everything is steel tracks, stinging eyes, bone waiting to be compressed. It's happening and she can't stop it happening; Evelyn by her knowledge tree and that moment of radical innocence before the lightning strikes.

Shocked?” Juliet queried, the light pink tint on her cheeks the only telling sign of her discomfort with the conversation. He nodded. “Yes. I had no idea my little girl knew what fluffies were.” Juliet opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by more misguided innocence from Kate. “They’re the fluffy things Juliet keeps hidden in her dress here and here,” she said proudly, tapping her chest to indicate just where these fluffy objects were located. Patrick blinked. “That’s quite enough, Katie love. Why don’t you go paint some flowers or something. I need to have a word alone with Juliet.

She thought of the recurrent waves of pain that for some reason or other she and her husband had had to endure; of the invisible giants hurting her boy in some unimaginable fashion; of the incalculable amount of tenderness contained in the world; of the fate of this tenderness, which is either crushed or wasted, or transformed into madness; of neglected children humming to themselves in unswept corners; of beautiful weeds that cannot hide from the farmer.

She sways in Beauty & her Grace, While the Moon beam Lits her Face, The Innocence Sparks through her Smile, As he narrates the story, of when.. she walked the Aisle!

Smile on the face or innocence on the face is as attractive as beauty on the face.

So many lives are in bitterness today not just because of how their pasts were abused, but how they think they were innocent.

So little I know in my innocence. Ideals, like pebbles in a stream wash away, wash away. Life makes no sense.

Some readers may find it a curious or even unscientific endeavour to craft a criminological model of organised abuse based on the testimony of survivors. One of the standard objections to qualitative research is that participants may lie or fantasise in interview, it has been suggested that adults who report severe child sexual abuse are particularly prone to such confabulation. Whilst all forms of research, whether qualitative or quantitative, may be impacted upon by memory error or false reporting. there is no evidence that qualitative research is particularly vulnerable to this, nor is there any evidence that a fantasy— or lie—prone individual would be particularly likely to volunteer for research into child sexual abuse. Research has consistently found that child abuse histories, including severe and sadistic abuse, are accurate and can be corroborated (Ross 2009, Otnow et al. 1997, Chu et al. 1999). Survivors of child abuse may struggle with amnesia and other forms of memory disturbance but the notion that they are particularly prone to suggestion and confabulation has yet to find a scientific basis. It is interesting to note that questions about the veracity of eyewitness evidence appear to be asked far more frequently in relation to sexual abuse and rape than in relation to other crimes. The research on which this book is based has been conducted with an ethical commitment to taking the lives and voices of survivors of organised abuse seriously.

Some boys walk by and you cry, seeing them. They feel good, they look good, they are good. Oh, they're not above peeing off a bridge, or stealing an occasional dime-store pencil sharpener; it's not that. It's just, you know, seeing them pass, that's how they'll be all their life; they'll get hit, hurt, cut, bruised, and always wonder why, why does it happen? how can it happen to them?

So young a child," said the gentleman sitting opposite to her, (he was dressed in white paper,) "ought to know which way she's going, even if she doesn't know her own name!

Sometimes, I miss so much the person that I was before the world tore me up in so many places. If only "they" could have just let me stay that way.

Somos el uno para el otro, no puedes negarlo, tú eres la única persona en el mundo que puede calmarme cuando estoy molesto, y se que yo soy el único que te tranquiliza cuando le temes a algo. Nosotros no… No necesitamos palabras, simplemente con una mirada nos comunicamos, y el mundo entero desaparece. Así que no puedes escapar de esto, al menos se que yo no puedo, porque esto es lo mas real que ha ocurrido en mi vida.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to being ten years old. Even just for a day. Everything was easier then.

Soul of a victim tends to prove her innocence.

Staring at a world too horrible to comprehend, believing -- by dint of ignorance and innocence -- that beneath this unbearable contract of guilt and blame there is always an older contract that may bind and release in a more salutary way.

That was my first instinct -- to protect him. It never occurred to me that there was a greater need to protect myself. Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.

Su estado de ánimo ante la Mica era un caso especial, diferente del estado de ánimo de sus amigos. Y si no, ¿por qué Roque, el Moñigo, o Germán, el Tiñoso, no adelgazaban tres kilos si la Mica marchaba a América, o un par de ellos si solo se desplazaba a la ciudad, o engordaban lo perdido y un kilo más cuando la Mica retornaba al valle por una larga temporada?

Sur son lit est étalé tout ce dont elle dispose de son dossier pénal. Tout ce que Carl lui a donné. Les procès-verbaux d’interrogatoire. Le réquisitoire. Les preuves fournies au dossier attestant de sa « culpabilité ». Les mandats de perquisition. Tout. Elle a tout. Et rien. Pas un seul indice qui puisse l’aider à trouver sa sœur. Elle ne sait rien de sa vie. Rien sauf sa haine envers elle et l’existence d’un petit ami, Joseph, qui se faisait appeler Joe. C’est invraisemblable.

That first day at school, maybe an agonising parting from your parents. The face of a loved one lost. A pullover knitted by your granny. A favourite toy. A doll, perhaps. A book of rhymes, tattered and torn. Someone who gave you a flower, a kiss on the forehead. To the end of your days you will carry that kiss with you. And may it protect you from all harm.

That's most interesting. But I was no more a mind-reader then than today. I was weeping for an altogether different reason. When I watched you dancing that day, I saw something else. I saw a new world coming rapidly. More scientific, efficient, yes. More cures for the old sicknesses. Very good. But a harsh, cruel world. And I saw a little girl, her eyes tightly closed, holding to her breast the old kind world, one that she knew in her heart could not remain, and she was holding it and pleading, never to let her go. That is what I saw. It wasn't really you, what you were doing, I know that. But I saw you and it broke my heart. And I've never forgotten.