Best 589 quotes in «innocence quotes» category

To your parents you are still that innocent baby, and sometimes even you will need your father's hand and your mother's lap.

Unpacking a Globe I gaze at the Pacific and don’t expect to ever see the heads on Easter Island, though I guess at sunlight rippling the yellow grasses sloping to shore; yesterday a doe ate grass in the orchard: it lifted its ears and stopped eating when it sensed us watching from a glass hallway—in his sleep, a veteran sweats, defusing a land mine. On the globe, I mark the Battle of the Coral Sea—no one frets at that now. A poem can never be too dark, I nod and, staring at the Kenai, hear ice breaking up along an inlet; yesterday a coyote trotted across my headlights and turned his head but didn’t break stride; that’s how I want to live on this planet: alive to a rabbit at a glass door— and flower where there is no flower.

Unschuld ist kein Schutz.

Until that day at the dress department Lucie had been many things to me: a child, a source of comfort, a balm, an escape from myself; she was literally everything for me – but a woman. Our love in the physical sense of the word had proceeded no further than the kissing stage. And even the way she kissed was childish (I'd fallen in love with those kisses, long but chaste, with dry closed lips counting each other's fine striations as they touched in emotion).In short, until then I had felt tenderness for Lucie, but no sensual desire; I'd grown so accustomed to its absence that I wasn't even conscious of it; my relationship with Lucie seemed so beautiful that I could never have dreamed anything was missing. Everything fit so harmoniously together: Lucie, her monastically gray clothes, and my monastically chaste relation with her.

Vincent Marc Hoherz. On Guilt. Searching Guilt within oneself makes one stand closest to Innocence. #Vincent Marc Hoherz.<3

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.

We all wear masks to veil the truth. Truth is nakedness. Truth is fear. Truth is the gardener making you sit on his lap asking you to light his cigarette. Truth is father— with a limp cigarette on his lips —telling you to never use his matches to light it for him. Truth is father yelling: "It is not nice for little girls to do so”. Truth is a curious girl wanting to ignite a match like a woman. Truth is the maid watching from the kitchen, knowing. But knowing isn’t truth. Truth is the maid calling: Come. Come. Truth is the gardener understanding. But understanding isn’t truth. Truth is the maid saying, "Stay away!" Truth is a girl thinking she is in control. That nothing happened, nothing bad. But the truest truth is a girl knowing, a girl understanding that on that day someone stole a little piece of her truth.

We are all the same and need to think that we are innocent. However, we do blame others just to be innocent. We simply believe blaming will wash out ourselves. More we search innocence more we blame others. What we need to understand our purity instead of trying to prove that we are blameless.

We are never as steeped in history as when we pretend not to be, but if we stop pretending we may gain in understanding what we lose in false innocence. Naiveté is often an excuse for those who exercise power. For those upon whom that power is exercised, naiveté is always a mistake.

We live in a time of era where there is no value for innocence. People don’t worth the innocence. And innocent people remain the sufferer and vulnerable to the world.

We have deprived pain of its innocence.

We kissed and pressed up against each other, and I said to her “Ya know, my first kiss I ever had with anyone, it was with a boy, in the back of a school bus at night.” Lotty stopped kissing me for a second. “That’s disgusting,” she said. “What? It’s not like we had much choice in where we did it. Kinda had to sneak around in those days. Get it in when and where we could.” “No, I mean the fact that your first kiss was with a boy.” “What’s wrong with that?” “Boys are gross.

We try to bring up our children so that they are protected from the world's evils, only to find we've raised a pack of innocents who seem to be about to stumble into them at every turn just from sheer stupidity!

We'll never feel safe again, and so it's bye-bye innocence. It's been nice knowing you, but you're gone now.

We look for things or people that are incorruptible. There is nothing incorruptible, merely uncorrupted. We neglect the role we play. We value innocence, but only the kind we cannot alter. We throw mud at purity and mock it for its stain.

We see that in the organic world, to the same degree that reflection gets darker and weaker, grace grows ever more radiant and dominant. But just as two lines intersect on one side of a point, and after passing through infinity, suddenly come together again on the other side; or the image in a concave mirror suddenly reappears before us after drawing away into the infinite distance, so too, does grace return once perception, as it were, has traversed the infinite--such that it simultaneously appears the purest in human bodily structures that are either devoid of consciousness or which possess an infinite consciousness, such as in the jointed manikin or the god.

We speak of love when we destroy nature. It sounds like innocence of cruel arrogance.

We violate the innocence of things in the name of rationality so we can wander about, uninterrupted, in our search for passion and sentiment.

We would be a few years younger,if every day we meditated for five minutes on the meanings of the word innocence.

Westcliff thinks that St. Vincent is in love with you.” Evie choked a little and didn’t dare look up from her tea. “Wh-why does he think that?” “He’s known St. Vincent from childhood, and can read him fairly well. And Westcliff sees an odd sort of logic in why you would finally be the one to win St. Vincent’s heart. He says a girl like you would appeal to…hmm, how did he put it?…I can’t remember the exact words, but it was something like… you would appeal to St. Vincent’s deepest, most secret fantasy.” Evie felt her cheeks flushing while a skirmish of pain and hope took place in the tired confines of her chest. She tried to respond sardonically. “I should think his fantasy is to consort with as many women as possible.” A grin crossed Lillian’s lips. “Dear, that is not St. Vincent’s fantasy, it’s his reality. And you’re probably the first sweet, decent girl he’s ever had anything to do with.

When a scream is heard, wait...for silence is our assurance of tolerability.

What can a woman do when scandalous gossip travels the world? If she defends herself, she sounds guilty. So I waited some more.

What had he done? Something horrible, something terrible, but something he'd done as a child. Can you commit murder in innocence? It's too big a thing for the human mind to take in, that's the problem. And it grew with the ever-larger newspaper pictures of a girl who was near enough an angel, even before she died. Only the young die good. And Angela Milton died young enough to be perfect.

what time can be more beautiful than the one in which the finest virtues, innocent cheerfulness and indefinable longing for love constitute the sole motives of your life?

When Aziza first spotted Mariam in the morning, her eyes always sprang open, and she began mewling and squirming in her mother's grip. She thrust her arms toward Mariam, demanding to be held, her tiny hands opening and closing urgently, on her face a look of both adoration and quivering anxiety. "What a scene you're making," Laila would say, releasing her to crawl toward Mariam. "What a scene! Calm down. Khala Mariam isn't going anywhere. There she is, your aunt. See? Go on, now." As soon as she was in Mariam's arms, Aziza's thumb shot into her mouth and she buried her face in Mariam's neck. Mariam bounced her stiffly, a half-bewildered, half-grateful smile on her lips. Mariam had never before been wanted like this. Love had never been declared to her so guilelessly, so unreservedly. Aziza made Mariam want to weep. "Why have you pinned your little heart to an old, ugly hag like me?" Mariam would murmur into Aziza's hair. "Huh? I am nobody, don't you see? A dehati. What have I got to give you?" But Aziza only muttered contentedly and dug her face in deeper. And when she did that, Mariam swooned. Her eyes watered. Her heart took flight. And she marvelled at how, after all these years of rattling loose, she had found in this little creature the first true connection in her life of false, failed connections.

What do you call yourself?" the Fawn said at last. Such a soft sweet voice it had! "I wish I knew!" thought poor Alice. She answered, rather sadly, "Nothing, just now." "Think again," it said: "that won't do." Alice thought, but nothing came of it. "Please, would you tell me what you call yourself?" she said timidly, "I think that might help a little." "I'll tell you, if you'll come a little further on," the Fawn said. "I can't remember here." So they walked on together through the wood, Alice with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the Fawn, till they came out into another open field, and here the Fawn gave a sudden bound into the air, and shook itself free from Alice's arms. "I'm a Fawn!" it cried out in a voice of delight. "And dear me, you're a human child!" A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at full speed.

What do you really want? Did you know that every single one of your desires is an expression of your soul's longing to experience human life as you? It's true. These pure impulses get filtered through our conditioning and show up distorted at times, but follow them back to their source and nothing you desire is anything but good and possible.

What they, in their innocence, cannot comprehend is that a properly constituted, healthy, decent man never writes, acts, or composes.

When Aziza first spotted Mariam in the morning, her eyes always sprang open, and she began mewling and squirming in her mother's grip. She thrust her arms toward Mariam, demanding to be held, her tiny hands opening and closing urgently, on her face a look of both adoration and quivering anxiety... "Why have you pinned your little heart to an old, ugly hag like me?" Mariam would murmur into Aziza's hair... "What have I got to give you?" But Aziza only muttered contentedly and dug her face in deeper. And when she did that, Mariam swooned. Her eyes watered. Her heart took flight. And she marveled at how, after all these years of rattling loose, she had found in this little creature the first true connection in her life of false, failed connections.

When do they turn the streetlights on? Does each streetlight have a separate switch? Where did all the choo-choo trains go? Why don't people just draw their own money? Who decided that red means stop and green means go? Is there only one moon? Are all car honks the same? How do the police stop trees from growing in the middle of the street? Do people paint their own cars? What is a fire hydrant? Why don't people whistle when they walk? Where do airplanes live when they are not flying?

When did you first fall in love?" "I think, I first fell in love when I was in fifth grade with this boy who kept his glass ruler in the sunlight and made rainbows on my desk with it.

When I see an evil person, I cannot believe that once he was an innocent and sweet baby.

When it happens and it hits hard, we decide certain things, and realize there's truth in all those dark, lonely days" He had an instantaneous look about him, a glimmer and a glint over those eyes, he knew how the world worked, and took pleasure in its wickedness. He would give a dime or two to those sitting on the street, he would tell them things like: "It won't get any better," and "Might as well use this to buy your next fix," and finally "It's better to die high than to live sober," His suit was pressed nicely, with care and respect, like the kind a corpse wears, he'd say that was his way of honoring the dead, of always being ready for the oncoming train, I liked him, he never wore a fake smile and he was always ready to tell a story about how and when "We all wake up alone," he said once, "Oftentimes even when sleeping next to someone, we wake up before them and they are still asleep and suddenly we are awake, and alone." I didn't see him for a few days, a few days later it felt like it'd been weeks, those weeks drifted apart from one another, like leaves on a pond's surface, and became like months. And then I saw him and I asked him where he'd been, he said, "I woke up alone one day, just like any other, and I decided I didn't like it anymore.

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.

When I was a child, I used to look at the sky and wonder how were stars fixed on the canopy and why didn't they fall on Earth. I also wondered why they disappeared in day time. When I grew up, all my questions got answered, but I lost my innocence.

When our consciousness has become a haven of illusions, our mind may have a hard time to fight the maze in our thinking. Only anchor points from our past and the innocence of our childhood might give back the core of what we are. (“Not without the past”)

When the doctor opens the heart, all he sees is flesh and blood; when God opens the heart, He sees all issues of life

When shame is met with compassion and not received as confirmation of our guilt, we can begin to see how slant a lens it has had us looking through. That awareness lets us step back far enough to see that if we can let it go, we will see ourselves as clean where we once thought we were dirty. We will remember our innocence. We will see how our shame supported a system in which the perpetrators were protected and we bore the brunt of their offense — first in its actuality, then again in carrying their shame for it. If the method we chose to try to beat out shame was perfectionism, we can relax now, shake the burden off our shoulders, and give ourselves a chance to loosen up and make some errors. Hallelujah! Our freedom will not come from tireless effort and getting it all exactly right.

Why should we remain innocent of what lurks in the shadows? How can we live in the world if we don't understand how dark and brutal it can be?

When we lose our innocence - when we start feeling the weight of the atmosphere and learn that there's death in the pot - we take leave of our sense.

When we see an innocent child, this is an ordinary thing; but when we see an innocent adult, this is an extraordinary thing!

Why do men confuse innocence with ignorance?' I demanded and he wrinkled his brow. 'Because someone who is ignorant of a vice is not tempted to indulge in it.' 'But may be more easily lured into it,' I said.

Why do we have this desire to tease the innocent? Is it envy?

Why are girls to be told that they resemble angels; but to sink them below women? Or, that a gentle, innocent female is an object that comes nearer to the idea which we have formed of angels than any other. Yet they are told, at the same time, that they are only like angels when they are young and beautiful; consequently, it is their persons, not their virtues, that procure them this homage.

Women, mysterious, vulnerable, enticing and full of mixed up loves and hates,’ he drawled. ‘Frail reeds that often survive a storm while male oaks go crashing . . . must I really number you among them just yet, pixie? Can't I go on thinking of you as a charming infant?

Yet I believe, as I say, that it was precisely this underhand act that gave birth to her vitriol, for people are at their least forgiving when they themselves have been underhand, as though they would exact their innocence from you at any price.

World & people only seem unlovable due to toxins & lies they've been fed. Release distortions of mind. Return all to innocence & freedom

Yes, we can be assured that if we don't change and turn our lives around to become like a little child again we will definitely not get a look at the fulness of our purpose, let alone get in.

Work, love, courage and hope, Make me good and help me cope!

You cannot make yourself have a flashback, nor will you have one unless you are emotionally ready to remember something. Once remembered, the memory can help you to face more of the truth. You can then express your pent-up feelings about the memory and continue on your path to recovery. Think of the flashback as a clue to the next piece of work. No matter how painful, try to view it as a positive indication that you are now ready and willing to remember.