Innocence (n.) is what the doubter drinks like the shades of the underworld drinking a living man's blood — the elixir of immediacy his starved soul needs for a moment.
Innocence (n.) is lost only by guilt; if it was not by guilt you lost it, it was not innocence you lost.
Innocence (n.) is not a perfection to wish back: the moment you wish for it, it is lost, and wasting time on the wish is a new guilt.
Innocence (n.) is ignorance — not the pure being of immediacy, but ignorance; that it seems designed to become knowledge is irrelevant to it.
Innocence (n.) is peace with something else beside it — nothing; and what nothing begets is dread.
Innocence (n.) brought to its last extremity is not guilty and yet is in dread, as though it were already lost.
Innocence (n.) disarms the merman: one trusting look from Agnes and the sea falls mute and nature's passion deserts him.
Innocence (n.) is the only protection against seduction — not culture; a woman who craves 'the interesting' can be sure there is a merman in the offing.