Innocence (n.) is ashamed of nothing.
Innocence (n.) is ashamed of nothing... whoever blushes is already guilty.
Innocence (n.) gives a pleasure superior to all others because it has no interval — no comedown, no repentance.
Innocence (n.) needs no guide but the voice of nature, and while men do not become evil they are dispensed from being good.
Innocence (n.) can lose to impudence: Marion's gentle denial, set against his diabolical assurance, made her look the guilty one.
Innocence (n.) once lost leaves everything the same in appearance and different in effect, like Adam and Eve still in the garden after the fall.
Innocence (n.) is careless where guilt would be cautious: having nothing to hide, they exposed themselves more than if they had been culpable.
Innocence (n.) is sometimes kept by disgust rather than virtue: vice without charm deadens the imagination — until more seductive charms arrive.
Innocence (n.) is betrayed by a smile, a wink, a careless gesture: it is enough to let the child perceive there is something we want to hide.
Innocence (n.) often looks embarrassed and ashamed, while guilt carries itself with boldness and pride — so much for judging by appearances.
Innocence (n.) is a sleepwalker on the edge of a precipice: wake him with a start and he may fall — first lead him back, then wake him and show it from a distance.